Enochian Prophecies
by Kalfu
Summary: History is the sum of infinite minor events, each one contributing to the next. Some say this is written, this is destiny. Yet when those who walk outside Fate arrive, how can an unmarked invitation change the destiny of the world's two greatest enemies?
1. Chapter 00 Prologue

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all the Harry Potter characters in this. The rest are mine.**

**Since I know the summary is a little vague, I've decided to put up another, longer and somewhat more straightforward summary.**

_Harry Potter was supposed to be the son of Lily and James. His destiny was to become the Boy-Who-Lived and he was fated to be irrevocably connected to Voldemort. But what if something had happened? What if Harry wasn't James' son and he never had the chance to survive Voldemort's curse? What then? But when Fate is involved, a chance encounter between a boy and a Dark Lord can lead to a deadly duo and the end of the wizarding world as we know it._

**Warning: This is rated 'M' so there will be some mature content. There won't be a lot of it and not for a while either, but I'm letting you know now. I'll post a warning on the chapters which have them.**

**As for general warnings this fic is going to be HP/LV, Grey!Harry, AU, Powerful!Harry, Creature!Harry and some other themes that fall under the 'M' category.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p>...<p>

_**Chapter 00**__ - __**Prologue**_

...

Ministry balls were always extravagant occasions.

If there was ever any investigation as to where the surplus money from the year's budget had gone, the most likely place to point fingers would be at the organisers. That fact in itself was barely enough to cause any sort of controversy however and it was not like any of the participants would ever complain about it. A great many of the higher-up ministry officials were purebloods and were therefore used to such excessiveness. Those that were not of such clear-cut family trees tried not to attract attention to their lineage by pointing out the ridiculousness of the events.

On a normal occasion, a ministry ball would house the artistic furnishings of the latest famous magical interior decorators. Tastefully placed sculptures would dot themselves across the room, changing occasionally in size, shape or colour. Elegant crystal chandeliers would illuminate the area and everything in it, accentuating the sparkling sequins on the most expensive dresses worn by the most impressive witches. The dance floor always remained empty until the music started and the food would be laid out tastefully in a luscious banquet.

Ministry balls were always extravagant occasions.

Lily Potter had known this from experience and had come to expect a certain amount of excessiveness. However, if ministry balls were extravagant, she had no idea how to describe what she was experiencing at that moment.

Her intelligent green eyes scanned the ballroom anxiously. She didn't know what she was doing there. It was a private ball, held by an unknown patron. She had never felt as if she was any less important than anyone before, but now she realised that she was way out of her league. She was a nobody trying to stand next to the most famous and most accomplished people of the wizarding world; artists and inventors, geniuses and celebrities.

She warily witnessed them mingling around with each other.

The ballroom was practically painful to look at; shining and clean, glinting with unnecessary luxury. The floor was white, polished marble—gleaming, the walls were painted in real gold flakes. The murals on the ceiling were the most awe-inspiring things she had ever seen; full-figured women and athletic men laughing and crying, tearing at their faces in sorrow and illuminated in joy. The pictures told a story that Lily had no knowledge of, but felt full of emotion over nonetheless. Her breath hitched in her throat and she quickly looked back down, embarrassed, her hand clutching the small pearl on the end of her necklace.

She shouldn't be here.

Beautiful people swayed to the most breath-taking music Lily had ever heard, played by a symphony of fantastical looking creatures that she had only once read about. She couldn't even remember the names of those humanoid creatures, but their image was unmistakable; impossibly long necks between slim shoulders and willow-like bodies. Tufts of feathers rested on their heads and travelled down their necks and shoulders to the back of their hands, their white eyes closed softly as they played their surprisingly normal musical instruments.

Watching those strange beings temporarily took Lily Potter's mind off her devastating self-consciousness and transported her into a woozy world of serenity. But such things could not last forever and soon they stopped playing. A few stray notes lingered in the air as the musicians put their instruments down. The creatures stood up and left, their lilting stroll didn't attract as much attention as Lily thought they might and with a quick glance around, she realised that she was the only person watching.

Her mood plummeted once more and she lowered her eyes ashamedly, unsure why she was so upset. She hated the suspicion inside herself that she was here as some joke; everyone attending the ball was successful, famous, important. She was not. A Hogwarts graduate with good NEWT results, a member of the Order of the Phoenix and married to a certain Mr. James Potter. Not exactly ordinary, but not exactly amazing either.

Not like these people.

Lily sighed softly. This wasn't like her. She was just upset about what was happening with James. She shifted on her feet awkwardly as she picked up a flute of champagne that was offered to her by a waiter in smart white robes.

The only reason she had agreed to come to this place was to get away from her new husband for a while. She still didn't know who had sent her that invitation via an ebony feathered rook and she hadn't had any intention of accepting the nameless request of her presence. Yet fate worked against her plans and an almighty fight had broken out between her and James earlier in the day.

In an uncharacteristic move on her part, she had stormed out of the house and flooed to Diagon Alley, going into Twilfitt and Tatting's clothes shop. She bought the most expensive dress she found; a dress that she had to take a significant amount of money out of her and James' Gringotts vault to buy.

It was a red dress, a deep burgundy, simple yet stylish and the most beautiful thing she had ever owned. Compared to what these people were wearing though...

_Stop that!_

Lily snapped at herself in her head, a slight scowl appearing on her forehead. She had enough self pity for one night, thank you very much! The only reason she had come here was to get away from the sorrow and pain of her imperfect marriage. There was no point in attending this ball if she was just going to stew in her own feelings.

With a new feeling of determination, Lily tried out a soft smile on her lips.

It wasn't so bad.

"Why is the most beautiful woman here standing still and without a dance partner?"

Lily turned in surprise; she hadn't heard the man approach; neither had she felt his presence. She stared dumbly at him. Her eyes travelled upwards to see his face.

_Oh Merlin..._

There was no doubt in her mind; he was the most handsome person she had ever seen. The man was easily six feet tall. He had strong, breath-taking features and jet black hair, styled as if he had stepped straight out of a 1950's movie. Lily was reminded of the old James Dean movies she and Petunia used to watch as girls.

But this was not James Dean. No. This was oh-so-much better and Lily had to make a conscious decision to stop herself from giggling like a blushing schoolgirl.

"I don't dance," Lily answered as soon as she remembered how to speak, "And I can assure you, flattery of such blatant insincerity won't impress me."

She hoped she sounded as sharp as she wanted to convey. Despite the promise she made to herself of optimism, Lily found herself agitated. What gave him the right to mock her, telling her that she was 'the most beautiful woman' there? Like she wouldn't know a hidden insult when she heard one; she was a muggle-born witch; she was used to such treatment.

Her tone clearly wasn't as unsociable as she hoped, however and the man's lips turned upwards into a grin, showing her his perfect teeth. "Madam," He said, "I don't have time for insincerity and I, like you, enjoy dancing. I want you to dance with me. Dance with me."

His voice was strong, but his tone was breathy and Lily found herself almost forgetting about James. She slowly shook her head, looking into the man's dark, dark eyes. "I don't know you." She said, instead of telling him that she wasn't interested, that she was married.

Giving a pleasant laugh the man suddenly flourished into a formal bow, "I am Paveh Drux and am most _sincerely_ pleased to meet you."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "You're mocking me." She declared bitterly.

Unperturbed, Paveh Drux straightened and shook his head. "Not so." He murmured, taking a step forward. "Can I ask your name?"

"Lily Evans." She replied coolly, stepping back so that they were at their previous distance. A cold feeling spread in her stomach. Why had she said Evans? She was married now. Her name was Potter, Lily Potter, and she loved James. Why was it that she had trouble even remembering his name in the face of this man? He was good looking, but not _that_ good looking. Well...maybe.

He smiled down at her. "Well then, Miss Evans, will you dance with me?" He held out his hand, palm up, waiting for her to put her own on top.

"There's no music."

He showed her more of his perfectly white teeth. "That's what the band is for." Paveh held up his free hand and snapped his elegant fingers effortlessly. Lily was going to ask why when the whole band of fantastic creatures arrived back into the grand room. Their figures made a dramatic impact on Lily and Lily alone.

"They're quite the sight, no?" Paveh said, leaning into Lily.

She wanted to roll her eyes. The figures had made a dramatic impact on Lily _and_ Paveh Drux— apparently.

The limp hand at her side was suddenly engulfed in the warmth of his and he started to lead her to the centre of the room. She tried to keep the rising heat on her neck from her cheeks as she detected the first whispers of the other people in the room.

"_Who is that witch with Paveh Drux?"_

"_He's way out of her league..."_

"_What do you think he see's in her?"_

"_Oh that's horrible; giving the poor thing false hope like that..."_

They were watching her, him—them, together. Seemingly oblivious to her discomfort, Paveh spun on his heel to face Lily, one hand on her waist and one waiting for her own fingers to clasp. Reluctantly, and against her better judgement, her hand found his.

They fit together just right.

The first notes of the song drifted towards her. Lily wanted to close her eyes, to lose herself within the music, but Paveh Drux would not allow such a thing. His presence was impossible to ignore; it would not tolerate distraction. As if a testament to that, the grasp on her hand tightened securely and Paveh led the waltz.

They danced.

And oddly, Lily's heart soared. She hadn't felt such an elation since James had proposed to her. But then, who the hell was James? Who was any man once Paveh Drux was in the room?

Nonexistent.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And so, she let herself forget about everything. About James and his fighting and their imperfect life that was less fairytale than it was camp-side horror story. And she danced.

At some time during the song, more people had joined them. Lily had some distant realisation that they were there, but paid no heed. As far as she was concerned, there was only the two of them. No people, no band, no gold plated walls and white marble floors.

No pain, no war, no reality.

And later, when the music stopped and the ball ended for the night, Lily was taken to the gardens by Paveh Drux and they talked. A perfect, fairytale setting; a stone bench in front of a still pond and elaborate topiary. Afterwards, Lily would not remember what they spoke about, or how it was that the man had leaned in and started kissing her—or even when she started kissing back.

A great deal of the night would remain foggy and unclear, but Lily would never forget the shame and horror when she woke up the next day in a bed beside the sleeping form of Paveh Drux.

She had hurriedly dressed into last night's gown, its beauty now sullied with the memory of her actions and fled. She arrived back home with shame burning at her cheeks and saw her husband asleep on the couch. A cold dinner was on the kitchen table.

If Lily wasn't so disgusted with herself, she would have cried at James' attempt at dinner and at making up with her. Instead, she lowered her head as she trudged up the stairs, slowly slipped off her dress and put on her pyjamas, crawling into bed.

When they met each other in the hallway some hours later, they didn't speak about what happened. James didn't ask and Lily didn't offer any information. Instead, he just apologised and they kissed and made up. Lily vowed to never utter a single word of what occurred. She vowed to forget about it and never bring it up again. It was in the past. It was a bad mistake that she would just forget about. James wouldn't be able to forgive her and she didn't want to ask him to try.

However, fate had other ideas and four months later, there was no denying the evidence of what had happened.

She never told James the baby wasn't his; he would be a good dad to her child and knowing the truth could ruin him. Besides, he was excited—more so than she had ever seen him. The idea of having a proper family seemed to appeal to him more than Lily would have thought. He began to plan their futures and soon, any relationship issues they had shared were forgotten. Their marriage became the ideal coupling like they had been before their wedding. The unborn child of Lily's unfaithfulness had healed their marriage. In a bizarre way, Lily almost felt it was oddly fitting.

Lily never got in contact with Paveh Drux again; she hadn't gone looking for him and he hadn't searched for her. That was probably for the best. She still didn't know what had happened that night to make her become unfaithful; she hadn't been before hand and she hadn't been after.

It was just for him.

Even thinking about him four months later, Lily found herself blushing in both resentment and pleased embarrassment. But James was her husband. He had not been dashing in the same way Drux was—and certainly not as captivating, but he was good to her and he was reliable. He rubbed her stomach and talked to the baby. He came home every now and then with baby things and he got rid of his study to make room for a nursery.

Paveh Drux had done none of those things.

The more pregnant she became, the less active she was in the Order. Eventually, she stopped working altogether. James still did, but Lily knew she had another life to protect as well as her own. Her life became pleasantly sheltered from the war. She would wake up each morning and talk to the baby. Wander around the house during the day and clean as much as she could, stop occasionally to rub her stomach. At night, she would hum her own childhood lullabies and drift to sleep with her hands over her bump. Her life was easy and pleasant and she fell into a strong sense of calmness as the days went by. What she never admitted to, however, was the guilt she felt every second moment.

The day she went into labour was one of the worst and best days of her life. On one hand she feared the baby would turn out nothing like James. She might be able to fool him while the baby was young, but what happened when it grew? She was terrified Paveh Drux would one day show up and destroy her carefully planned lie. Yet on the other hand, Lily couldn't wait to see her first child. Her parent's first grandchild. She could barely contain her excitement as she was rushed to hospital by a frantic James.

After a night and half a day of pushing and screaming, her son was born.

Joy. That was why she was crying. She had practically attacked the healer who tried to take the baby away for a more detailed examination. Lily saw her son and knew he was perfect. After a quick inspection of ten fingers and ten toes, Lily could examine her child. He had barely cried at first and had fallen asleep almost immediately in her arms.

Wrapped in a blue knitted blanket, Lily lightly stroked the crop of jet black hair her baby had been born with. It was his father's hair, but James wouldn't know that; he'd think it was his own. The baby's skin was pink now, but Lily could imagine it becoming as pale and perfect as alabaster when her boy grew. She had already seen a flash of green from between narrowed eyelids when her son had been crying so she knew there was no fear of him inheriting his father's dark, dark eyes.

He was perfect. Her son was perfect.

"What should we call him?"

Lily had forgotten James was there, standing next to her as he desperately tried to catch a glimpse of the child she was protecting so fiercely.

"Harry," Lily said with a smile, looking down at her baby, "Harry Potter."


	2. Chapter 01

**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! I'm glad you enjoyed it.**

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><p><em><span>Chapter 01<span>_

**{****Enochian Prophecies}**

The infant Harry was in Lily's arms. When she heard what they had planned to do, she almost dropped him.

"This is crazy!" She snarled, hoisting the child more securely into her grip. "No, I won't allow it."

James looked at her pleadingly, "It's the only way, Lily, try listen to reason. Please!" He implored, holding out his hands as he tried to approach her.

She wouldn't have it. She took a large step backwards, retreating away. She shook her head and looked as if she was about to start growling. Lily clutched her baby to the point where the child squirmed in discomfort.

"Reason?" She snarled, "You want to take my baby away from me, how can that be reasonable?"

Lily felt hot tears prickle the sides of her eyes and she looked away momentarily, taking a few quick breaths to steady herself. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. Not in front of James and certainly not in front of the Order members he had brought with him. Sirius Black shuffled on his feet, looking down at the floor uncomfortably. Albus Dumbledore had the cheek to sit on her couch, watching the interaction between husband and wife. Lily could not believe these people would ask her to go along with their ridiculous scheme; it was pure madness.

"We have a chance to finish off You-Know-Who for the first time since this war began. Think of it Lily; think of all the lives we could save. We can end this war for good. No more pain, no more suffering, no more fear. We can live like the happy family we've always wanted to be. I want to see my child grow up, Lily, because I've already missed so much as it is."

Lily gave her husband a withering look. "You want to put our child in an orphanage." She retorted, "How can I possibly live with that?"

Albus Dumbledore gave a grim smile when she looked his way. "Lily, my dear," He started off softly, "We know this is hard for you, and we will respect your wishes no matter what you choose to do. But we now have this _one_ chance to finish the war against Voldemort. If we don't take this, he could win. If that happens, Lily, you know he'll start to go after witches and wizards that are not purebloods. You and your son will be targeted."

Lily stopped in her anger and looked down at her son uncertainly; Harry's bright green eyes stared back at her. Lily studied them as she considered what Dumbledore said. Her son's eyes were extremely like her own, but they were not the same. They were a shade heavier than hers, with a dark ring around the outside of the iris. It separated the green from the white and made them stand out even more. Lily knew that it was his father's genetics influencing the colour, but James didn't and she doubted he had even noticed. It wasn't enough of a difference for any suspicion to be cast on her son's lineage.

Lily sighed, still looking down at her year and a half old child. James was going to go along with that plan of his anyway and Lily certainly didn't want her son caught up in this mess. "Why does it have to be an orphanage?" Lily questioned miserably, "Can't I send him to my sister's house?"

"We thought of that already, Lily, but we could not get in contact with them. They are no longer residing in Privet Drive where ever it is they have gone. Their possessions are gone also. They are not an option, I'm afraid."

Lily watched Dumbledore closely as he spoke. It seemed unfair that this was happening. "What about Hogwarts, can't we send him there?"

Dumbledore slowly shook his head, a pained expression on his face.

Lily knew sending her son to any of the other Order member's houses was not an option either; he could be as open to an attack there as he was with her.

"It would only be for a few weeks, Lily." James tried once more, speaking soothingly as if she was a doe about to flee. She couldn't blame him; she felt like she might have been.

Lily looked back down at Harry. "Only for a few weeks?" She echoed, not looking up. "How many is a few?"

"Three, four at most." Sirius spoke for the first time that evening.

Lily was silent for a very long time, staring at her child. Four weeks was a long time to spend without her son... but her sacrifice would save the lives of millions. And four weeks would go by quickly for a child as young as Harry was. Perhaps he wouldn't even know that she was missing? She doubted that, but she couldn't have her son in harm's way. Putting him into the orphanage was probably the safest thing that could be done. Albus was right, as much as she hated to admit that.

"Go over the plan with me one more time, then." Lily said, finally looking back up from Harry. She moved further into the room once more and went over to sit on the nearest chair. James and Sirius then moved to do the same, relieved that Lily seemed to be considering it. They shared a quick look before Sirius started talking.

"We trap Voldemort." He explained, "We make him believe that you have what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"The Philosopher's Stone."

There was a moment of silence. Lily paused. "The Philosopher's Stone? He wants immortality." She whispered, suddenly terrified at the implications. If he had the stone, if it was actually real, they would all be dead. There would be no hope. It was in that moment Lily knew something _had _to be done. "Where is it?" She asked with a shaky voice.

"Safe." Dumbledore answered soothingly, "I've hidden it."

"So it _is_ real, then?"

Another nod answered for her.

Lily thought about this new information. "Go on." She motioned for someone to continue.

Dumbledore spoke this time, "We lead him to believe you and James are the keepers of the stone. When he arrives to take it, we ambush and detain him. All of the Order will be waiting; you won't be in any danger, Lily." He informed her in a soft, kindly tone.

Lily nodded; her mind was working as she went through all the details in her head. "How will Voldemort find out about us, surely if he discovers this too easily he will suspect a trap."

Dumbledore looked grim and his eyes flickered down with sadness before he answered, "Severus reported back last night to us. He said he heard Voldemort conversing ... with Peter Petttigrew. He's betrayed us Lily; he's working for Voldemort."

"Peter? No... That can't be right!"

Her mind reeled. Peter? Surely not. It couldn't be. "There has to be some sort of mistake." Peter was their friend. Why would he betray them? How_ could_ he betray them?

"There's no mistake." Sirius said miserably.

"He's right," James added, "We even gave Snivilus a _veritaserum_. He was telling the truth." He didn't sound happy at Snape's innocence, but then Lily could understand why. The thought that Peter could betray them... It hurt too much to think about.

Lily swallowed her feelings, mindlessly stroking her son's head as she composed herself. Harry was half asleep in her arms, leaning up against her with lightly closed eyes. She listened to her son's deep, relaxed breathing for a moment before going back to business.

"So we're going to feed the information to Peter and attack Voldemort once he makes his move?" She asked, though it wasn't much of a question. She sighed with tiredness, "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow." Dumbledore replied, "If you would like, I can drop Harry off at the orphanage; I know it must be hard for you."

Lily shook her head stubbornly, "He's my son. This is my duty."

"Thank you, Lily." Dumbledore's words were completely sincere. Lily gave a brief smile, though it was without much happiness. What she had learned that night weighed heavily on her soul. She didn't want to give up her baby—for any amount of time—but this was war and she could not be so selfish as to sacrifice countless lives for her own protectiveness as a mother.

"I think," Lily said softly, "I think I'm going to go to bed now, if you don't mind."

She wanted to spend as much time as she could with her son. In the morning she knew she would feel guilt—but she was no stranger to that. Still, while she could, she wanted to just enjoy Harry's company. She didn't wait for the reply she knew she would get; she left the sitting room and walked upstairs.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_[One week later]_

Rachel Burns had always considered herself to be a good secretary; she was attentive and interested and she took pride in her job. She knew these to be good qualities and would boast about them whenever she was in a job interview. For most of the time, she was right to do so; she really _was_ attentive, interested and proud of her work. No one could deny that anything she did was flawless.

She was a bit of a perfectionist, if she did say so herself.

Yet strangely enough, perfection wasn't what her boyfriend of two years had wanted. She didn't understand why he broke up with her; the house was always tidy, her clothes were worn to perfection and everything was put into its rightful place. So Niall had to be given out to sometimes because he tidied wrong, who cared? That was what a relationship was; her parents were exactly like that. If only he could adapt and be _clean_ for two minutes then perhaps she could have stopped nagging. But no. No, he had to be a lazy slob that always left dishes in the sink and the toilet seat up.

He was the one with the problem, not her.

And yet...

Her hands shook with the shock and hurt of the call she had gotten barely an hour ago. Niall had informed her coldly that he was no longer in love with her and he couldn't continue on living like that.

Living like what? Rachel didn't know.

Her mind reeled at the notion of living a life without the man whose picture was staring at her at that very moment on her desk. She blinked away tears as she quickly looked to the side and reached over to flip the frame so that it hid the image of her treacherous ex.

Rachel Burns took a deep, shaky breath to give her the strength to get that horrible day over with. She wiped her wet eyes with a slightly damp crocheted handkerchief and stood up, deciding that it was time to get to work. She walked over to the filling cabinet and took out three different files, all of which were inside thin manila folders.

It was unfortunate that _He_ had to break up with her during the annual updating of the files. She was usually very efficient at the job and preformed her duty meticulously, but now she could barely concentrate. To think _He _would break up with her during such a stressful time for her. _He_ knew she always fussed about this. _He_ could have waited a day or two more—miserable or not.

"Bastard..." She muttered bitterly in an uncharacteristic show of unprofessionalism.

Her usually meticulous desk was covered by an array of chaotic papers and files. She hurriedly and sloppily wrote. She barely paid attention to what she was doing, still thinking over her relationship with that pathetic excuse of a man.

No, not a man; a boy. That's all he was; a big, grown-up _boy_.

Her elbow knocked off a precariously balanced folder and sent the contents spilling onto the floor. Rachel growled and stood up, knocking more files in the process. The secretary stood there momentarily, shaking from anger and frustration.

She would _not_ scream. She just wouldn't.

Slowly, when she got her blood pressure down to a reasonable level, she kneeled down on the floor to pick up the strewn papers, and put them into their appropriate files.

"Rachel?" A voice called out to her from around the corner. Sighing, the young secretary stood up, leaving the papers on the floor as she went to investigate the reason for being called.

One of the nurses wanted her to pull out the medical files of some of the children. She left the door open as she tried to find the information, unaware of the light breeze that lifted the papers on the floor slightly and pushed them into even more disarray.

Once she had gotten rid of the nurse, Rachel returned to the floor and quickly shoved the sheets back into their folders. Not realising that they were no longer correct. In all the commotion, some of the files had gotten mixed up. Two babies, practically the same age, had their files swapped around. Later, when Rachel transcribed the files onto new paper, she would not notice this clerical error, still too intent on her ex-boyfriend.

In the normal state of events, this error might have been easily fixed. It was the unfortunate case of coincidence, however, that the next day, a person from another orphanage arrived to move a few children to their institute. Although it wasn't exactly publicised, the orphanage was severely overcrowded. Sometimes they had to transfer children to other orphanages.

They, of course, disliked moving children at all; it could be quite traumatic, so they tended to do so mostly with babies. Lily Potter had made absolutely _sure_ it was written in her son's file that he was not to be put up for adoption or transferred. She would return in a few _weeks_. They were warned not to _touch_ her child.

The message had been clear. Stay away from Harry Potter.

That was exactly what had been done.

The baby Harry Potter had been passed over as soon as they saw that. Sasha Kamenev, however, had not. Rachel Burns did not realise her mistake. She didn't remember that Harry Potter had green eyes, pale skin and dark hair. Nor for that matter, did she realise that Sasha Kamenev should have had blond hair and wide blue eyes.

The file said Sasha was fair game; abandoned at birth, he had been living in the orphanage practically for his whole year and a half of life. The mother was dead or uninterested or unable to admit the birth and they had never heard from her.

Perhaps if Rachel's boyfriend hadn't broken up with her, or if she hadn't left the door open or if the nurse hadn't called, Harry Potter might have grown up with a family. Instead, the files were mixed up. His name was changed, his identity—his past—taken from him carelessly.

If there was such a thing as a real-life tragedy, it would be the case of the newly named Sasha Kamenev.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

Lily Potter was in the empty nursery, pacing mercilessly on the plush blue carpet.

She missed her son.

She felt like crying.

It had been _three weeks_ since she had abandoned her baby and she had mourned silently for him since then, as if he had died. Albus had advised against going to the orphanage to see Harry in case there was anyone tailing her. Reluctantly, Lily had agreed.

She knew one thing though; she was never leaving her child alone again. What was her purpose as a woman if not taking care of her son? She almost felt as if this hunt for Voldemort was some kind of joke. Three long weeks and the rising dark lord had not shown up.

Granted, Lily knew Dumbledore was being careful with the information he was sending to the treacherous Peter Pettigrew, but her whole body itched with the longing to hold Harry again. Her arms physically _ached_. Her heart felt heavy and between nerves and worry, Lily thought she might have a breakdown before Voldemort could even have a go at her.

It was with that thought that Lily realised she had spoke to soon.

Lily felt their house's wards bend and shatter and heard the sudden commotion downstairs. She ran out of the room and downstairs, drawing her wand, to see James standing in front of Voldemort in the sitting room. For a moment she froze, overtaken by the immense dark magic that oozed out of this man. He stared at her arrival with bored indifference, his red eyes conveying nothing but apathy yet inducing a severe case of terror in Lily.

Strangely, it strengthened her resolve to kill this monster, the _thing_ that had separated her from her child.

"Where is it?" His voice hissed darkly. He narrowed his eyes. His wand was by his side, but neither Lily nor James was fooled into thinking that he wasn't ready to attack.

Lily's jaw tightened as she took the last few brave steps to stand beside her husband. Her wand held straight out and pointed at him.

"We don't have it." She said cruelly, with just a slight amount of glee.

A giddy feeling tickled her chest; they had managed to trick Voldemort. They had played the bloody Dark Lord!

Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips curled into a threatening snarl. He looked as if he was going to attack Lily but he suddenly whirled to the side with a flourish of dark robes and sent a wordless spell into the corner. Frank Longbottom cried out suddenly and fell to the ground in a messy heap; his invisibility spell was ruined by the unmanageable pain.

The room exploded with action then, as every member of the Order of the Phoenix retaliated and fired their own spells at Voldemort. He managed to block most of them—barely—but Lily saw the huge gash across his shoulder that rendered his left arm useless. He wouldn't have enough time to heal it; not with the Order firing curse after curse at him.

"Tom!" Dumbledore suddenly called over the sound of the curses, "Do you yield? We do not wish to kill you. Surrender to us."

Voldemort snarled spitefully. Whether it was because Dumbledore used his real name, because he suggested surrender or both, Lily wasn't sure. He didn't seem to appreciate the advice though, as he sent an _Avada Kedavra_ his way. It was poorly aimed, however, and missed Albus Dumbledore's body by a good foot. Sirius had to jump out of the way with a startled yelp though.

"So be it." Dumbledore sighed regrettably.

The fighting continued for another few minutes. Although the Order clearly had an unfair advantage, Voldemort kept them on their toes. The Order members were tiring quickly however, and though no one had been killed, Frank Longbottom, Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody, had been hit with powerful curses that put them out of action. Despite their casualties though, Voldemort was showing obvious signs of fatigue.

He had been foolish to come here alone. Arrogant to think that he could just waltz in and take the stone as if it was his. Naive to think that James and Lily would even have the Philosopher's Stone in the first place.

Eventually, a curse broke through the Dark Lord's shields and he cried out. It was a long, strangled sound that was terrifyingly human. There was a sudden flash of light and the body of Voldemort crumpled to the ground.

No one moved for a very long time.

"Is he dead?" Someone whispered fearfully.

Dumbledore was the one to approach the body cautiously. He inched forward, his wand at the ready—just in case. He wouldn't put it past Tom Riddle to try something underhanded like that. When he reached the body, he slowly crouched down and turned the corpse over, face exposed. Red slitted eyes, half open, stared lifelessly through him. Dumbledore felt for a pulse. He grimaced at the still warm skin but didn't pull away.

It only took him a few moments to come to his verdict. "Tom Riddle is dead." He announced softly.

"You mean we've won?" James asked.

No one replied; the corpse in the centre of the room was answer enough.

The mood was not of the joyous elation that Lily had thought it might have been. Molly Weasley was hunched over her husband, trying to bring him back into consciousness. Alice Longbottom was stroking Frank's face and hair, weeping softly; he didn't look so good. Alastor Moody was recovering himself; pushing away a hovering Remus Lupin with agitation.

Dumbledore was standing over the body of his old student. He seemed mournful. Lily supposed she could understand why; Albus was a man who felt deeply about the people he knew. It didn't matter if they were Dark Lords or Aurors. It was all the same to him.

Lily wanted to go over there and give him comfort but instead James suddenly gathered her into his arms and hugged her powerfully. Lily blinked at the abrupt gesture but then she hugged back just as tightly, clenching her eyes shut.

The war was over.

Tomorrow she would be getting her baby back.

She cried then, shamelessly.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

They held hands when they walked into the orphanage the next day.

Lily's guilt had suddenly lifted with the end of the war and she had woken up with surprise to find that the heavy feeling in her chest and stomach were gone. She almost thought they were a normal part of life, having forgotten a time when she was free of them. She was free now though. She was happy. James was right; even though it had hurt her to put her baby into the orphanage, she knew now that it was worth it.

She smiled as she walked through the doors.

James was a great husband. A great father. A great man. And they were going to be a great family. All they had to do was get Harry back and everything would be fantastic. They could truly begin their fairytale lives.

Her pace quickened as she approached the reception area; a huge, silly grin on her face.

"I'm here to collect my son, Harry Potter." She announced cheerfully without being asked.

The receptionist gave a brief, professional smile, "One moment." She said as she stood up and looked through the files in a giant metal cabinet. Lily turned and flashed an excited smile at James. He returned it and squeezed her hand.

The secretary nodded as she walked back to the two waiting parents. "Here we are," She said, "Harry Potter, eighteen months old...born in July, correct?"

Lily nodded eagerly.

"You'll have to sign some forms," The secretary said, picking a few sheets up and passing them to Lily, "If you want to fill them out over there, I'll arrange for you to collect your son."

Normally, something so casual wouldn't happen. However, because of the unusual circumstances and a certain degree of magic, the orphanage had agreed that just this once, they would look after their son for a few weeks.

Lily filled out the form quickly, eager to see Harry for the first time in almost a month. She was so excited that she could barely sit still.

"Calm down, Lily," James admonished lightly with a smile, "He'll be out in a moment."

Lily grinned, knowing that he was just as eager as she was.

When she heard the sound of the secretary's heels coming down the floor, Lily's heart almost burst with joy. She sat on the edge of her seat, ready to jump up and hold her child. The smiling secretary appeared around the corner.

And Lily's face fell.

She stood up and opened her mouth. "That's not my son." She blurted out. James was on his feet also, looking towards the blond-haired, blue-eyed child.

The secretary didn't know how to react. "Yes it is." She said eventually, "It says so on the file. Harry Potter, born on the 25th July 1980."

Lily shook her head. "He was born on the 31st." She looked around, suddenly frantic, "Where's my son? Where the hell is he?"

The secretary took a step back. "Here, I'll have another look, just calm down. A few weeks ago we had to update our files; I'm sure there's just been a clerical error. Sit down and I'll be back in a moment." She hurried off with the baby that was not Harry.

James put a hand on her shoulder, "It's okay, Lily just calm—"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me to calm down," She snarled, shrugging off his touch, "This was _your_ idea, this is _your_ fault."

James' jaw tightened and his eyes burned. He didn't act on his anger though and instead just sat down, looking away. "There's nothing wrong; just a minor mix up." He muttered to himself.

"I..." Lily knew she was over-reacting and took a calming breath. "You're right, I'm sorry, James. I'm just tired." She apologised, sitting down beside her husband. They didn't speak while they waited for the woman to return with their real son.

The screaming wouldn't start until the secretary returned with the owner of the orphanage to inform them that they no longer had their child.

"Harry will be fine." The owner, a Mr. Richard Langley, assured the frantic parents, once he had managed to calm them down enough to usher them into his office "We had some space issues and some of the children were sent to other centres. Your son's file must have gotten switched with another child's and he was sent away instead."

Lily sobbed loudly.

"It's okay." He said quickly, "I'm getting Ms. Roach to ring the orphanage he was sent to. He'll be back in your arms by tomorrow, don't worry about it."

"Thank you." James said to him dejectedly, holding his weeping wife.

Mr. Langley nodded and folded his hands in front of him on the table. They were just waiting for Ms. Roach now. He didn't have to wait long as the door opened hesitantly and the secretary appeared. She was pale and looked around the office with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry." She breathed.

Lily looked at her disbelievingly. "Where's my son?" She demanded harshly.

Ms. Roach shook her head. "There was a fire..." Her breath hitched, genuinely upset, "The whole orphanage has been burnt down. There were a lot of deaths." Tears appeared at her eyes and she rushed to wipe them away with her sleeve.

"And our son?" James asked because Lily could not.

Ms. Roach shook her head. "I don't know. No one knows. They sent the surviving children to different orphanages around the country. The files didn't make it through the fire. Everything is destroyed. I don't know if your son is alive or not—I'm so sorry."

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

The dark spirit clung to existence stubbornly.

It fled through the landscape at speeds unknown to any living creature. It was hatred that made the spirit stay in this land. Hatred and anger and sheer determination to not be beaten. Much of its former self had been lost, and now it was only a shimmer of disturbed air on the horizon. But it would _not_ die. It would get revenge.

It would kill anything that stood in its way.

There was nothing that could stop it.

It was no longer living, but far from dead and though it would take time and an immeasurable amount of energy, it would find a body, take it and use it for its own purposes. But that was for later. For now it was hungry and it had to eat, had to _consume_ the life energy of something, some creature or person—preferably a magical creature. They had the best life force.

The spirit felt a tug, pulling its metaphysical form towards the south. If it had feelings or features, it would have frowned in confusion. It, however, did not and instead decided to allow itself to be pulled along with the strange sensation, confident it could resist if it needed to.

It was not like he wouldn't find a meal down there anyway.

If it was capable of more than just vague curiosity, it would have wondered what could have any effect on a spirit. Instead, it silently swooped through the air and followed the sensation with a strange eagerness.


	3. Chapter 02

**Hey guys, thanks for reading and all the reviews! **

**Just wanted to say that this chapter and the next were originally one really long chapter but I've broken it up into two. I should be finished with the next chapter fairly promptly and hope to have it up in the next day or two.**

**Also, just in case anyone doesn't remember from the last chapter, Harry's name has changed; from here on he's Sasha Kamenev.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter 02<span>_

_[Seven years later]_

He never understood what had called him to this place. London was foul. It was noisy, there were people everywhere and he could practically feel the filth of the streets when he ventured outside.

Lord Voldemort had officially died seven years ago, the night that Dumbledore had actually managed to fool him. He would never fall for such a farce again. He was older now; more experienced and not at all eager to die again.

Of course, he hadn't really died. He had always suspected that gaining the Philosopher's Stone could be potentially life threatening and he would not trust any of his Death Eaters—no matter how loyal—with such a delicate task. He had planned for such a thing. He knew of a spell, old magic, dark magic, that meant he could take his soul out of his body. It was dangerous and was always meant as a last resort but he had done it.

The next task was to inhabit another body. A long, tiring and difficult process to be sure. Not to mention that any old body would not do; he needed a strong one; he would have preferred one with magical ability. But a wizard's magic could fight against possession so instead, Voldemort's bodiless soul took the body of young muggle man. Although there was no true magical power, the man seemed to have a very slight affinity towards sensing things that were not purely physical. When Voldemort's abstract spirit passed by the man, he had shivered and turned around.

The Dark Lord had made his decision there and then.

Voldemort took a great deal of enjoyment in stalking him for longer than necessary just to watch him squirm. The poor thing had almost broken with the pressure. He even ventured as far as a priest to perform an exorcism.

Voldemort would have loved nothing more than to watch the despair in the young man's eyes when he realised it had not worked. But time pressed on and eventually, Voldemort possessed and claimed the body. The magical affinity the man had left with his soul, just as he suspected it might, but the body withheld the invasion and when it was all over, Tom Riddle woke up in his new, younger vessel.

The body he had taken looked nothing like himself. The man's eyes were a soft brown, his hair was a dirty blond and he was a quite a bit taller than Voldemort had ever been. Interestingly enough, however, as he spent more time in his vessel, it morphed into something quite similar to his old looks.

The blond hair had bled black within days, the brown eyes glowed red. He was now slightly heavier built than before and though his height had lessened somewhat, Voldemort had gained an extra inch or two. His facial features were not entirely his own but not completely the vessel's either. The whole effect had a surprisingly handsome result.

Voldemort had not counted on such a fortunate set of circumstances.

He wondered initially if it was the vessel that called to him when he was nothing more than a spirit. Yet, this was not so. He had, on more than one occasion, left London without any intention of returning. Despite his best attempts, however, he felt the same pull. Always dragging him back here.

This was the reason he had stayed in a foul place such as the muggle London. His Death Eaters did not know of his resurrection; the fools believed he could be so easily vanquished. He would have to teach his followers a lesson in faith once he made his official return.

In the mean time, he was content to sit and wait and regain his strength. Let Dumbledore believe he was dead. Let the world sleep soundly for another few years; it would make his return all the more glorious.

But for the meantime, despite all expectations, he was stuck in London.

He was walking down a street at that moment, mulling over his situation and the future. He almost missed it. He almost missed the very thing he instinctively knew he was waiting here to see.

Like a hundred different threads of circumstance suddenly pulled taut into a complicated knot of fate, time slowed and two unconnected lives collided.

The boy cut across him a few feet ahead. Voldemort stopped. They were standing in a square, bustling with people and surrounded by traffic. They could have missed each other easily and yet they didn't. The boy stopped in front of him, pivoting on his heel to take a good long look. He faced forward, staring unflinchingly into the red slitted eyes of the dark lord.

This surprised Voldemort. What surprised him more was that the boy noticed him at all. He had put up quite a sturdy and strong notice-me-not charm upon himself. The fact that this boy was unaffected by the charm was... intriguing.

He studied the strange child. He was a scrawny little thing; all arms and legs and very little meat. Probably underfed by the looks of his sunken cheeks. His clothes were such mangey rags he couldn't be anything but a street kid; one of the many homeless Voldemort had seen in his time there.

The boy had jet black hair, messy and dusty for some reason, and eyes that were bright green with the strangest dark ring separating green from white. It was thick and black and practically unnatural. It was striking. But they shone with the wide eyed vulnerability that every abused child seemed to have.

Voldemort took a step forward; he knew without a doubt this child was beyond normal. He was special somehow. Voldemort hated children—_hated_ them. Even as Tom Riddle, he had hated their weakness, their feebleness, their uselessness. So it was with caution and confusion and a strange amount of eagerness, that he began considering what to do with the boy.

They held each other's gaze until a loud shout interrupted him. "There he is!" Someone yelled.

The boy flinched, looked in the direction of the voice and blanched. His gaze flickered between Voldemort and his pursuers. It was only then that the dark lord in disguise noticed the very feminine pink purse clutched in the boy's hand, its long, fashionable chain strap trailing on the dirty ground.

The boy gave one last glance to Voldemort, almost as if he was reluctant to leave, before bolting down the road. He disappeared in a nearby alleyway. Two men ran after him, following closely with rage pouring out of their beings.

Doing something he had never done before, Voldemort took an interest in an event that was completely unrelated to his own life. It only took him a split second to decide that he was intrigued enough to follow and so, he did.

Travelling through the alleyways, Voldemort actually ended up walking past the boy's pursuers. "...don't know where he could have gone..." One muttered to the other as they walked back dejectedly.

They almost brushed shoulders with the Dark Lord. It was a good thing they didn't because Voldemort certainly wasn't feeling so out of character that he would forgive anyone actually _touching_ him. And he wouldn't mind trying out a few _Crucios _in his new body, whether he was trying to keep a low profile or not.

But the moment passed and the two muggle men were spared the Dark Lord's wrath. Voldemort continued further down the alley. He arrived at a dead-end and he frowned. Where was the child? Was the boy a magic-user? His disappearance would have made sense then. But only then. The child could not have climbed up the wall; there was nothing to facilitate such a thing. Puzzling.

He turned and saw the possible escape point. A small hole in the lower part of the wall had iron bars that were cut, making an opening just big enough for a child to fit through. He strolled over to the man-made hole and peered inside, muttering a _lumos_ on the wand he had stolen from Ollivander's shop.

He would give it up in a moment, that wand, if he could have his old one back, but Dumbledore didn't seem likely to want to return it, so he would make do.

It was a strong wand at least, very intriguing in its uniqueness; its core was made from an Augurey, one of the lesser known members of the phoenix family. The wood wasn't exactly every day either with a Taiwan red cypress tree having been used. Voldemort had never heard of such a thing in a wand before.

Considering that, he figured the wand must not have been Ollivander-made. He knew Ollivander would never use an Asian tree for his wands; going onto another wand-maker's turf and using their trees just wasn't _done_. It was taboo in the wand-making culture and Ollivander was nothing if not careful to avoid any taboos. No, this was a strange wand; there was no question about that.

What was even more perplexing about the wand was that it had literally _chosen_ him. He had broken into Ollivander's wand shop one night a few years ago to replace that which had been lost. Barely stepping foot behind the counter of the shop, he felt the strange energy of a wand being called to its chosen master. No sooner had he felt this and the box had shot out from the shelves in the back of the shop, practically attacking him in its eagerness to present itself. That made it worth taking the wand on that merit alone.

But this was not the time to be considering such things.

He was intrigued by the boy who, it seemed, had made his stealthy escape through some sort of lower corridor. The _lumos_ spell wasn't nearly as illuminating as he hoped. Nothing could seem to manage to penetrate the darkness. He would not gain anything from doing this. Instead, Voldemort swiftly stood up. Far be it for the new dark lord to be seen on his knees in an alleyway.

The boy was gone either way and he wasn't coming back any time soon. Not that it really mattered. No dark lord, no matter how dormant, had time to run around after _children_. If he stumbled into the boy again, he would further pursue the matter. If not, then what did it matter? What was one boy?

Voldemort left the alleyway and continued on with his journey. He was a busy man, he didn't need such distractions. Despite that, his mind occasionally flickered back to the boy. The unusual eyes, the slight form, the fact that the child had seen through his charms. Voldemort felt as if there had been some strange turn of events—something that he was intrinsically caught up in but had no real knowledge of. It was a feeling that he didn't like. It was one he would seek to destroy.

He refused to be anyone's pawn.

**{Enochian Prophecies}  
><strong>

_[Five years later]  
><em>

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He could feel the dark magic radiating from Tom Riddle's wand which was kept locked securely in a drawer at the back of his desk. Voldemort had officially been reborn; Dumbledore didn't know how he had managed to do it, but then if there was ever a wizard capable of resurrection, it was him.

The attacks had started three years ago. Short and brutal to begin with. The Ministry of Magic hadn't even believed it was a dark lord back then. The attacks were uncharacteristic; a muggle orphanage, a muggle theme park, a muggle school. Almost as if they wanted muggles to become afraid rather than the wizarding community.

It sounded like madness.

But then, perhaps Voldemort _had_ gone mad? Dumbledore was sure that he had at least one Horcrux. It wouldn't be above his past student to create more. And every single one he made had probably brought him closer and closer to insanity. He suspected that Voldemort had barely ever been on the right side of the line that separated crazy from sane, even before the horcruxes.

Albus believed that Tom was just as powerful—if not more—than he was before his resurrection. And he believed that he had at least as many loyal followers to nose his heels. The Malfoys of course would be present among the ranks. The Lestranges too. Probably most of the pure-blood families actually. This was not good. Albus would have to keep an extra eye on his students this year. Many of the children would be initiated into the Death Eaters soon if he didn't protect them.

Some days Albus wished there was someone who was strong enough to just stand up to Voldemort in one single fight to the death and win once and for all. Yet he knew that was wishful thinking and he couldn't imagine putting such a responsibility onto any other person. Besides, Albus was probably the best candidate to fight against Tom Riddle. He _was_ his student after all. He felt honour bound to do something. Even if it did mean giving up his life in the process.

Some days he just felt weary though.

Lost in his thoughts, Dumbledore almost didn't notice the arrival of Arthur Weasely in the fireplace. The ministry worker stepped out and lightly brushed his cloak as he advanced towards the desk.

"Albus." He started off uncertainly, "There's been another one."

Dumbledore gazed to the opposite end of his room for a long time. He gave a grim look to Arthur, ignoring the sickening dread that settled heavily in his stomach. "Tell me about it." He said reluctantly.

"Arabella Figg was in London today. She claimed she saw a bunch of muggle children running away from something. Then Death Eaters showed up and disapparated with all of them. Right in front of her, out in the open. Luckily she seemed to be the only person there, but they have been getting more and more reckless."

"In broad daylight?"

"Evening. It was getting dark, but it wasn't late. It was only luck that some muggle didn't see them."

Dumbledore rubbed his chin, "And you said they were children?"

"Yes. About five of them."

_Why children, Tom?_

Dumbledore wondered to himself. Why children? He knew his past student had never been fond of them, but since he had been reborn, all of his attacks had been aimed at children.

Occasionally an adult would be taken, but that was not often. There was a pattern to Voldemort's movements now; he had a way of causing terror. The Death Eaters found a group of children and kidnapped them. They went missing for a few hours or days and then their mutilated and tortured corpses were returned to the same place they were found—or at least very near.

There was no evidence of any sort of ritual done on the children and nothing seemed to have happened to them other than torture. It worried Dumbledore greatly. Every day they failed to catch Voldemort, he killed more and more people—innocent children.

"Thank you, Arthur." Dumbledore said eventually, breaking through his troubled thoughts.

Even though Arthur was technically dismissed, he stood his ground. "Sir," He said, "Don't you have any idea why he's doing this?"

The light in Dumbledore's eyes had been all but smothered by the war. He was tired and he didn't know how long he could remain defiant. "Who truly knows the mind's of madmen?" He asked instead of trying to answer a question he could not manage.

Arthur Weasley nodded solemnly, "Good night, Professor." He said weakly and left the office the same way that he had come in.

"Good night, Arthur." Dumbledore replied, pulling himself from his depressed thoughts, not realising Arthur had already gone.

**{Enochian Pr****ophecies}**

The boy sat on the old, half-ruined wall of the local abandoned playground, smoking and musing casually about what to do with all those dead kids showing up. He didn't really care all that much, dead or alive, people stayed out of his way. Of course, with all the deaths it meant that there was a great deal less competition on the streets; less pick-pockets, less half-baked gangs, less hassle.

The recent string of brutal and mysterious murders had inspired a great many of the street kids to bite the bullet and return to the orphanages and broken homes they had fled previously. Not him though, no; there was no way he was ever returning to that hellhole of an orphanage. The streets were better, easier and quite frankly, less dangerous.

Besides, the streets were good to him. Whether from luck, or his own admittedly brilliant survival skills he had not only lived on them but had thrived. This was his place. His niche in life. He was strong here—powerful. He could have been King if he wanted to, and indeed a few years ago he had almost done it. He had his own successful gang, his own loyal followers and the ambition to challenge the last King, the boss of the streets.

But it wasn't worth it. He had realised that after getting rid of another challenger for the status. It wasn't the fight that brought his revelation. No, he had done that plenty of times before. Instead it was the effort he realised he was putting into the meaningless politics of the streets. Who needed all that stress, anyway?

He didn't need a gang to keep him alive; it was nothing more than responsibility—something he didn't particularly want over anyone else. What was more, there would always be others challenging him for his place. Challenges were fought to the death. That was a lot of killing. Even though he didn't think he was ever going to lose a fight, he still didn't want to have to spend every single waking moment looking out for possible enemies.

Not that it would be much different from what he was doing now, mind.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and twirled it through his fingers contemplatively. He supposed he just preferred to be out of the limelight; becoming King was simply too high profile for him. Besides, the proper gangs like the British and Russian Mafias were always on the lookout for the next 'big thing'. He had no interest in being courted by any of their sort. It was a one way street, as far as he could see, and he wasn't going to give up his life for any organisation.

His life was his and his alone.

"Sasha!"

He looked up expectantly. "Diana." He replied, taking an apathetic puff as he watched the girl approach him.

Diana was a street kid like him. A runaway from an abusive father. He hadn't wanted to know her circumstances, but she had told him anyway. Now, every time he saw her, he thought of what she had escaped. He disliked the feeling it gave him. Diana had been in his gang before he had washed his hands of it.

She had been his second in command. An agile little thing, she could pick-pocket better than anyone—himself included. She was cute too, innocent looking; big blue eyes and exceptionally white blond hair. No one ever suspected her to be so devious. She was useful to have around. She was also incredibly loyal. This was why she was Sasha's greatest asset. He could actually _trust_ her. She was about the only person he would.

"I've been looking for you." She announced, coming to a stop before him and looking up.

Sasha looked down his nose at her. "I imagine you were." He replied.

She wasn't put off by his tone or his response, well used to his behaviour. She folded her arms. "You're going to want to listen to what I heard." She told him confidently.

Sasha doubted it. He shrugged. "Go on then." He said with a bored sigh.

Lips quirked upwards at his words. "Tales' gang's gone missing."

Sasha, who was about to take another puff, paused in his action, the cigarette inches from his lips. He put it down and raised a brow. "Tales has gone missing?" He repeated slowly, mulling over this fact in his head. "Bloody Hell." He muttered.

Diana outright laughed. "I know, right?" She agreed, "Went missing earlier—about six o'clock. I was talking to Rob, he told me he saw the whole thing; some weirdos in black robes or something were running after the whole gang and then they just vanished into thin air—all of them."

Sasha frowned. "You got your information from Rob?" He asked, disappointed, "So he's back on drugs then?"

Surprisingly, Diana shook his head. "No, actually, he's been clean since that whole shipyard thing—" Sasha grimaced, not wanting to remember _that_ particular fiasco, "–and he actually seemed to be pretty sharp."

"So you think Tales was chased by a group of... magical men?" He asked with a scoff, "When did you start believing in fairytales?"

Diana scowled. "He probably got _that _wrong, but the rest of it seems to be true. I checked their base; there was no one there, they were all gone. And they weren't at any of their usual sites either, I already looked."

"I see." Sasha said softly. The disappearance of Tales and his gang was a good thing. They were a constant thorn in Sasha's side. With any luck, they would turn up dead in a few days. That would mean that Sasha's biggest competitors—and agitators—would be out of the picture. Had he any sense of ambition, now would have been the time to strike for the ultimate power. "You shouldn't have gone to their base alone. That was dangerous—and stupid." He muttered.

Diana smiled softly. She was fond of Sasha, bad humour and all. She would have followed him anywhere when he was their gang leader. As it was now though, she was content enough to be his occasional informant of the rest of the streets. Sasha was happy being a loner, she knew that. This was about as close as anyone had ever gotten to him; she wasn't going to take that for granted.

No one knew exactly what had happened to him when he was in the orphanage but it must have been pretty horrific because even Diana had more trust in other people than he did. But once he did trust someone, like Diana for instance, he was proven to be quite a loyal and thoughtful kind of person. He had been the first person to ever express any sort of genuine concern for her. Diana had never really said so, but Sasha was like a brother to her.

"You shouldn't worry so much about me, Sasha; it'll give you an ulcer." She quipped.

Sasha snorted in response and jumped off the wall, landing gracefully on his feet. "Don't worry about _that_ ever happening; I would barely even notice if you left." He lied as he began to stroll away from her, across the old playground overrun with long grass and broken beer bottles.

Diana followed, unperturbed. "So what are you going to do?"

He didn't bother looking back at his companion. "What do you mean?" He asked.

Scowling, Diana enlightened him, "Tales was the leader of the second biggest gang in the whole city. All that's left is King's gang. There's no one else."

Sasha didn't bother replying to Diana. Instead, he merely continued to trudge through the tall grasses.

"Are you hearing me, Sasha?" Diana asked agitatedly, scowling over at him. She had to rush to keep up with Sasha's long, quick stride but she still managed to look mildly intimidating.

Sasha glanced in her direction, "I hear you." He agreed with a shallow nod. His eyes swept across the area in front of him. He ducked under a hole in the wire mesh fence and left the playground, making his way out onto the concrete footpath. He strode away from it.

Diana sighed and ran after him. She hurried to overtake him and she grabbed his arms, effectively making Sasha stop. Sasha hated being touched, really hated it. Touching was rarely a good thing for him. Still, he managed to stop himself from reacting negatively.

Diana seemed to know she was playing with fire; she cautiously took her hands off of him but kept them near, hovering inches from contact.

"Listen to me, Sasha, _listen;_ Tales is gone. There's _no one_ left. Everyone's terrified of these killer guys. They want a leader, Sasha, a proper leader, someone to protect them—someone who's strong." She looked at Sasha imploringly.

Sasha, out of nothing more than stubbornness, refused to understand her words. Diana growled.

"Now is _our_ time, Sasha, now is _your_ time. Challenge the King, take his crown. There's not one person that doubts your ability. They want _you_. King has already proven he can't do anything; this is our chance to take what is ours. No one will challenge you as King, Sasha, they'll be too afraid to fight you and even if they're not, they'll be too afraid of mutiny after a leader like you. This is yours to take a hold of. Take it."

Sasha licked his teeth contemplatively, "Are you finished?" He asked, walking around her. Diana could do little else but stare after him in utter frustration.

"You're a great leader, Sasha; running away from this is nothing but a waste of talent." She called after him, watching his retreating back.

Sasha lifted his hand and gave one short, parting wave as he left.

Diana shook her head and watched him go.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

Sasha strode down the streets, hands in his pockets, head down. His eyes were trained on his feet and the pavement as he made his way through the wilds of the city. People immediately parted to make way for him. It was certainly not awe that made them move, perhaps closer to fear or even revulsion, as one might expect.

He looked like a no-good kid that was out searching for trouble. Even at thirteen he had the look of a delinquent. It was less his fault than it was that of his circumstances. Being able to look after himself meant that he had a certain level of grooming and personal care. While other street kids went around looking like skinny little chimney sweeps from the Georgian times, Sasha could find places to clean himself up and get food.

He still couldn't afford many clothes though and his experiences had kept him in a defensive, anti-social mien. That meant that he looked well enough to have a home and family but bad enough that people thought he was some sort of lower class repeat offender. It may not have done much to help him with the nice normal folk, but it certainly kept the social services from trying to chase him down and put him in some home somewhere.

Which, Sasha knew beyond a doubt, would never happen. He'd kill himself first.

Besides, it wouldn't really matter if he was in a home or not. No one would want to adopt a kid like him and then five years from now he'd be thrown on the streets again, unable to get a job and therefore make an honest living for himself.

No, a normal life would not be in the books for Sasha.

He had always known he was different anyway. He had felt it. It was neither a good feeling nor a bad one, just a certainty that he was experiencing things that others did not. This knowledge stemmed from the realisation that he could '_do'_ things. Not much; occasionally a door would bang when he was angry or he might sense the approach of people when his other senses couldn't pick them up. Little things that were, frankly, unhelpful and not altogether amazing.

That, however, was not what really assured him of his individuality. Sasha was capable of things that others were not. Diana had called it being a 'good leader'. This was not altogether so. After years of abuse in the orphanage, Sasha had found that he could influence others around him. He felt as if he could 'push' them into doing what he wanted. Just little pushes, nothing physical even; he did it with his mind.

He had discovered his ability one day when he was being attacked by a group of slightly older kids. He had just wanted them to go _away_ and suddenly, they did. The effort of making them go had almost made him pass out. It had been a victory, however small, that left him feeling triumphant.

At the time Sasha had thought that would be the start of some sort of superpower or something. But it had not been. Weeks he had spent, trying to learn how to control that thing. But to no avail; his power was completely and utterly random.

Sometimes it was strong enough to stop someone in their tracks. Other times, Sasha would barely see a confused quirk of an eyebrow and know they had felt something but hadn't paid much attention to the sensation.

It only happened when he was very stressed or scared anyway. Sasha couldn't claim it was a very useful thing to have if someone was going to have superpowers.

Despite being underwhelmed by his little secret, Sasha knew that others did not experience the same.

That meant he was different. He had a power, a special power that others did not. Sometimes he thought that unconsciously, other people knew it.

Sasha believed it was the reason why Diana thought he would be a good choice for taking the title of King. She hadn't known why he was so suited to a leadership role and Sasha was hardly going to tell her, but that was it. He trusted Diana and felt safe around her. Because of that, he had never used his skill on her.

It was just as well; Sasha had to have at least one person who he didn't need to make be loyal to him. He had to be able to rest around just one person. Diana was that person. He was sure she would be the one and only though.

Sasha's head suddenly shot up.

He faltered in his step and came to a halt, taking his hands out of his pockets. He stood still. Speaking of his hidden abilities, he felt the presence of someone approaching. More than one person actually, four or five at least.

"Sasha."

Sasha's fingers twitched at the sound of the voice. He turned to look at the boy who had said his name. "Allen." He responded coldly.

Allen stood in front of him carrying a baseball bat. He had four little minions with him, none of which had any weapons but were all able to fight nonetheless. Sasha quietly observed this and was acutely aware of his own two knives, hidden under the waistband of his trousers. He wasn't going to attack unless they did though. Taking a look around, Sasha realised he was in a very private little back road.

No one ever came back here. He was on his own.

"We heard you're going to take the title of King." Allen accused.

"Where d'you hear that?" Sasha responded.

"Around."

Sasha nodded. Of course, 'around'. It was always 'around'. "Well, I'm not." He assured the gang.

"Like hell you aren't." A vicious response, "Everyone knows you've been going towards this for years."

Everyone didn't know it, because it wasn't true. But they believed it. That was even worse; that meant he was going to have all of the hassle and none of the worth that came with it at the end of the day. "What do you want, Allen?

Allen didn't answer, just snarled.

The gang advanced.

Sasha sighed before raising his two fists close to his chest. The others hesitated briefly before going in to attack. With a flurry of fast fists, Sasha lunged and dodged and skipped back before going back into the fray. Time slowed as he felt a sharp blade slice the skin on his bicep. Sasha didn't know where the knife had come from but he hissed through gritted teeth as he forced himself to tighten his fists and retaliate. With an efficient jab, Sasha managed to catch Allen in the throat.

As the boy gurgled and fell, Sasha felt a sharp blast of energy and suddenly sensed the presence of someone else. There was a loud 'crack' and all of a sudden, the men in black that Diana had told him about were there. He almost cursed out loud when he realised that Rob had not been high. He had been right.

Sasha didn't have time to defend himself from the strong hands that appeared on his shoulders and pulled him into the strangest and most terrifying experience of his life.

With another loud crack, Sasha was unknowingly apparated to whatever fate awaited him.


	4. Chapter 03

**Hi all, just wanted to say thanks to everyone who read and reviewed(and/or added this story as a favorite or alert). Enjoy!**

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><p><em><span>Chapter 03<span>_

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

The Dark Lord mused in the private wing of his mansion. He was sitting quietly, but his mind was whirling with obsessive thoughts. He hadn't managed to leave London—even still. His Death Eaters knew of his existence, the magical world now knew of his existence and he should have been moving around, continuing on with his other plans. But he just _couldn't._ Not yet.

It was unimaginably frustrating.

He had fumed before, hissed, snarled, yelled and even broke things in a temper tantrum that was not at all befitting of a dark lord. But that was before. He was calm now. No nearer to uncovering what was going on, but no further from the truth and no deeper in the plans that he suspected had been made for him.

A soft knock on the door.

"Enter." Voldemort said.

Thorfinn Rowle came in and kneeled immediately in his Lord's presence. "My Lord," He said softly, respectfully, "We have another batch."

"Leave." Voldemort replied darkly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. This apathy was a front. Secretly, he felt a mixture of excitement and frustration. He didn't wish to become hopeful, useless emotion as it was, but something inside of him, deep inside of him, niggled.

The Death Eater promptly fled from the room, fearful that his master's mood was not a good one. They all knew to make themselves scarce if the Dark Lord was not perfectly happy with everything. In recent times, a speedy retreat had become more and more important for a follower to have.

Lord Voldemort slowly dropped his quill and stood up, leaving the room leisurely. They had already taken a gang of children just a few hours ago. He despised admitting it, but he could hardly go half a day without thinking of those startling green eyes. It was a weakness he wasn't going to let himself have. He would either kill the boy himself or lock him up safely until he figured out what his power was. Then he would be free to continue his reign of terror on the magical world.

The boy was an obsession that Voldemort shouldn't have allowed himself to pursue but was somehow powerless to stop anyway. He had searched high and low, near and far. Taking all those children had been his attempt to catch the boy, hoping to draw him out.

So far it had been useless.

He had tortured those children out of sheer frustration in not being able to find the green-eyed child that had left such an impression on him. If he had a name to go with the features that, admittedly, he had memorised to the smallest detail, maybe Voldemort would have been able to get some answers out of those worthless little brutes. As it was though, simply saying 'the dark haired boy with unusual green eyes' wasn't really enough.

Although, once or twice Voldemort fancied he saw something of recognition on the face of a child. When he did, he pulled them aside and asked them questions privately. The only thing Voldemort could get out of the children in that case was that there was a boy matching the description that was somewhat of a legend around the streets.

Any of the children Voldemort had questioned had not seen the child though—that was clear enough after a short bout of _Legilimancy_ to speed things up. They didn't know his name or where he was from. Only that he was to be feared and that he was almost worshipped by the younger children.

That was interesting. Voldemort himself knew the appeal his power had on other people. He knew how it drew them in and left them liable to gush and exaggerate every little thing. He wondered if the boy was the same as him. If so, the Dark Lord could use that to his advantage when he got his hands on him.

If only he could find the bloody child.

He travelled down to where the latest victims were held.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

The Death Eaters had done this plenty of times before. They relished in the fear and anguish they could inflict on the young muggles. They had gone through the motions time and time again and so Lucius Malfoy knew exactly what to expect as he entered the room and looked at the latest batch.

It was because of that expectation, Lucius found himself unexpectedly—but oh-so-pleasantly—surprised. He stopped as he entered the room and gazed at the future victims. There were five of them in total. Had he not been so perceptive, Lucius might not have noticed the difference to begin with.

At a first glance, they looked terrified. But then he soon realised that only four of them looked really scared. One stood out to him looking undeniably wary, distrustful and, judging by the sneer, angry.

Lucius was particularly intrigued to notice the other children's reaction to the one, unusual boy. They didn't seem to know which was worse; being near the edge of the magical barrier and hence the Death Eaters, or in the centre where the other boy stood.

Lucius watched, eyes shining, as the boy paced back and forward, looking like an animal that was cornered and readying itself for an attack. There was a wildness to his movements that Lucius couldn't help find beautiful. Dark and dangerous, the boy was like a jaguar stalking its prey. He looked in control of the situation—laughable though it was—and Lucius found that to be perfectly electrifying.

And the eyes...those eyes were something else altogether.

Oh, but Lucius could only imagine the possibilities if the boy had a few more years on him. Or if he wasn't a muggle. And if Lucius wasn't a happily married man, naturally. It should have put him off; all those factors standing in his way, but somehow it didn't. Not in this case. No, he would be a fine creature when he grew into his bones. Not that he would ever get the chance to see himself mature—which meant that neither would Lucius.

A pity to be sure, but such was life. Pretty face or not, Lucius would not be tempted to mourn for a muggle's death.

He stepped further into the room and stood among the ranks of the other Death Eaters. Each stood, staring eagerly at their prisoners, yet Lucius knew not one of them could appreciate the supreme beauty of the wild boy within their confines.

Thorfinn Rowle suddenly entered the room and everyone, Death Eater and otherwise, turned to look at him expectantly.

"The Dark Lord doesn't seem to be interested." He said with a shrug.

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward, raising her wand. "So they're ours?" She pondered aloud, grinning excitedly. She then giggled, "They're all ours!"

Lucius watched the wild boy twitch and tense even further, regarding Bellatrix suspiciously, his impossibly coloured eyes going from her to the wand to around the room. He didn't seem to recognise the wizarding weapon, but clearly understood it was dangerous. The others felt it too and huddled closer together, away from the half-crazed witch.

Sensing their weakness, Bellatrix turned to the group and with a vicious flick of her wrist she sent a powerful c_rucio_ onto one of them. The blond child she hit screamed immediately and fell to the floor, squealing and crying.

Lucius usually revelled in watching muggles suffer. He enjoyed Bellatrix's habit of overdoing every little thing she did. Despite her lack of refinement, Lucius secretly enjoyed her zealousness. This time however; he studied the reactions of the dark haired boy. A pleasantly simple thing to do, considering the couple of inches he had over his peers. Not crying and jumping around made him even more noticeable—and desirable.

Undoubtedly, the boy was frightened; his eyes widened and his whole body looked ready to snap. He had flinched and his eyes darted between the victim, the witch and the wand. Lucius watched as he put two and two together. The boy's hand brushed the side of his leg then.

An interesting reaction.

A strange gesture that Lucius could admit he had never come across at any other time. The others did not take notice of this, however and they all together agreed to move on with their next stage in the night's entertainment. The magical bars that held their prey vanished with a lazy flick of Macnair's wand.

The Death Eaters attacked.

Later it would be hard to say what came first; the many curses or the rush of bodies crowding towards the four remaining children. Lucius probably would never have the answer because they happened quite simultaneously. He had chosen to hang back. A decision that later proved to quite beneficial to him.

Although initially, Lucius was sorry to miss the catalytic event which elicited so many beautiful screams from the muggle children, he soon came to realise that his position was more strategic. Amidst the children's pleas was something quite disharmonious with the sound.

A voice, deep and shocked, shrieked into the cold air of the room.

The room stopped moving as the body of the young Death Eater slowly crumpled to the ground, a long, sharp knife protruding from his neck. The scene cleared as his comrades all retreated a few steps in surprise. They hadn't expected their victim to fight back.

Now the boy was standing defensively half crouched with another knife in his hand, his head arbitrarily jerking around, trying to leave as few blind spots as possible. His back was to the door, the only place where Death Eaters were not situated. He quickly crouched further down and picked up the wand that the Death Eater had dropped.

He held the wand like Bellatrix had done and pointed it at one corner of the room where a whole bunch of Death Eaters stood grinning at him, knowing the wand would not work. Lucius knew the boy didn't realise the power had not come from the wand but from the people. He would try to attack and fail.

Flicking his wrist in the exact same manner as Belletrix had, he waited for something to happen. Though he knew it was preposterous, Lucius almost thought for a moment that the boy might actually do it. But the moment passed and the child looked down at the wand with a frown on his face and clearly no idea how to work the instrument in his hands.

Growing frustrated with the wand, yet knowing it was somehow threatening, the he dropped it and dug his heel into it, effectively snapping it in half. Then, the boy quickly moved and tugged the knife out of the dead Death Eater's neck. It slurped slightly as he did so, but he didn't seem to mind as he raised it in front of him aggressively, looking more at home with his knives than with a wizard's wand.

The boy took a quick look to see if the other children were dead.

They were.

Yet Lucius noticed he didn't seem too perturbed.

"Do you think you can take on all of us?" Dolohov asked mockingly.

The boy was steady. His hands held the knives expertly; his body was perfectly poised in a position that spoke of great, unrefined power. Feral and exotic and entirely too enticing for Lucius. The boy shook his head.

"I'll happy just to take down as many of you as I can." He spoke for the first time.

Lucius raised a brow. The boy was younger than he had first thought. He must have been because that was the sound of a child whose voice had just recently broken. That made him all the more intriguing. Lucius wondered, not for the first time that night, what the boy would be like given a few years to grow.

Mulciber sneered, "Don't you know what we are?" He demanded in contempt.

The boy didn't. That much was clear. He had noticed that the sticks held some power but had not made the connection that it was the wizards who powered them.

"No." He admitted, "But I don't have to. You're all just flesh and blood. That's all I really need to know." He replied, unperturbed by his impending death as he made a simple, yet truthful, statement.

Rosier chuckled cruelly. "I want to take my time with this one."

"He's mine." Bellatrix announced, challenging all other claims on the child. Her eyes were narrowed interestedly, watching the boy closely, not the other Death Eaters.

Macnair was about to protest when suddenly, the feeling in the room changed and the Dark Lord appeared in the doorway. The air rapidly turned frigid. The Death Eaters immediately dropped to their knees with their heads bowed lowly, despite the boy with the knives. He was hardly a threat when the Dark Lord Voldemort was in the room.

Lucius peaked up and he watched the boy with shining eyes. Once again, he didn't react as expected. Usually, children instantly cowered from the Dark Lord. Muggle or not, they could sense the dangerous energy around the man. The Death Eaters always seemed like the lesser evil in the presence of their master. But once again, the 'usual' did not happen.

The Dark Lord's eyes were alight as they stared at the boy's back.

The child held himself like a hardened warrior who had just seen the last man go down on a battlefield. It was clear that the boy had felt the Dark Lord's presence from the moment he entered the room. This was not a child that would be taken unawares—that much was obvious. With his hands down, resting limply at the side, the boy closed his eyes and blew out a long, deep breath.

A man of less control would have gawked at the flicker of emotion on the boy's face. That dark determination for survival drained from his visage. His tense facial muscles miraculously eased up to the point utter blankness which one could easily have mistaken for—dare he say it...relief?

But soon the boy's eyes opened again and his expression was stoic once more. He turned to regard the Dark Lord, effectively blocking any further inspection of his face from Lucius' view.

But Lucius could see Voldemort and he looked angry, furious even. "Can someone explain to me why you believed it was acceptable to start before I gave the order?" The Dark Lord demanded icily showing his true rage through his arctic tone.

Avery spoke, "My Lord, we—"

"Leave. All of you. I will deal with you later."

Every single Death Eater scrambled towards the door, trying to get out before Voldemort changed his mind and dealt with them then and there. Lucius too, made his way to the door but he was slower to exit. By the time he was near the frame, it was only himself, the Dark Lord, the boy, the bodies of the four children and the fallen young Death Eater.

Lucius was awarded for his dawdling with a sight he didn't think he'd ever see. Voldemort and the child were standing in front of each other with only a few feet to separate them. The boy's striking eyes were trained entirely on Voldemort, showing nothing of the fear or confusion that one in his place should exhibit. Instead, the boy had a look that suggested this meeting was arranged. But how preposterous was that?

The boy was a muggle. He couldn't have even passed by Voldemort on the street let alone meet him and have arranged to do so again. The notion was utterly ludicrous. But then, there was Voldemort, returning the intense gaze that the boy himself was administering. And strangely, neither seemed to mind.

Lucius had seen the Dark Lord kill for less than that. Yet there was no wand to be seen, no hint of aggression or anger now that the others were gone. Lucius felt that he was witnessing something quite, quite unique here. He just wasn't sure what, exactly, that was supposed to be.

"You are dismissed, Lucius." Voldemort said, not breaking eye contact with the boy.

Lucius Malfoy bowed his head, "Yes, My Lord." He closed the door quickly, knowing that he had overstayed his welcome.

As he walked away from the room and down the corridor, Lucius could not help but think of the strange turn of events. He wondered what the Dark Lord would do to the boy. Lucius wondered if he could somehow find out.

He figured it would be a worthwhile venture.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

Inside the room, Voldemort waited to hear Lucius' footsteps fade away. When he was sure they were alone, he spoke.

"You are not afraid?" Voldemort asked, stalking nearer towards the child. He stopped when there was only an arm's length between them.

"No." The boy replied.

Voldemort would have quirked a brow but he had almost expected that answer to come from the boy. He took a moment to study the child. He was much older now than when they had last met and he had grown considerably in both his height and his features. For Voldemort, however, he was instantly recognisable.

Even before he had caught a glimpse of those unique green eyes, Voldemort knew this was what he had been waiting for. The boy's aura was stronger now, almost as if he had somehow grown in magical ability. But that couldn't be, could it? The boy was a muggle, wasn't he?

"What is your name?" Voldemort asked.

"Sasha Kamenev." He said.

He was a muggle then. He certainly didn't have the same feel as a wizard would have anyway.

There was a hidden power there though. Something Voldemort couldn't believe he had missed the first time they had met. He didn't know what it was, but there was strength inside of him. The boy seemed to be just coming into it now though. A curious and exciting prospect indeed. Despite this, he felt he needed to test the child somehow.

"Most sane people would have the sense to fear me, to beg at my feet for mercy." He said, carefully watching the boy's reaction.

Sasha considered this in a leisurely sort of fashion. Moving with slow, deliberate movements, he put his knives back into their holsters, during which his eyes never left the other man. He didn't reply to what Voldemort said. "I knew you were coming for me." He announced instead.

Voldemort raised a brow. "You knew? How?"

"Everyone was so scared when the other kids started to go missing. They thought it could be police or murders—even aliens." He shrugged, "But I knew it was you. Never had any evidence. No real reason to think it either. But I did. I was waiting for this to happen."

Narrowing his eyes, Voldemort took a step forward. "Yes, though that does not explain _how_ you knew, only that you did. But no matter, my interest does not lie with that. I am more concerned about something far more important; what, _exactly_, are you?"

They were barely two feet apart. Voldemort looked down at the boy; his outward appearance was dispassionate but inside was the tumultuous churning of eagerness and a surprisingly flaring possessiveness. They were in touching distance. All he had to do was reach out a hand and he would physically be able to touch him. After so long of being haunted by the memory of their meeting, having the boy finally here in front of him, found against all odds and older now was nothing short of giddying.

Seemingly unperturbed by the close contact, Sasha shook his head, "Just some kid," He said softly, half-whispering, "I'm nothing special."

Voldemort chuckled, reaching out a hand and putting it onto Sasha's neck. Sasha stiffened, his eyes went hard, but he didn't pull away. Instead, there was a new determination there. "Now, now," The Dark Lord admonished lightly, "We both know that's not true. What are you?"

The grasp on his neck tightened. It wasn't enough to hurt or to inhibit his breathing, but he noticed it. There was a note in his voice that Sasha knew instinctively not to mess with. His heart quickened in a way he rarely felt. He was nervous, fearful. He hadn't felt like that for a long time; his life, although hard, was dull. He rarely got excited, he was rarely affected by anything. This was different. This was intoxicating.

It made him feel alive.

"I don't know what I am." He said and he wasn't lying. He truly had no idea. "I'm not like other people though." He admitted.

Sasha was not someone who was quick to trust—even Diana would admit to that. So why did he immediately open up to this man? He didn't know the reason, but whatever it was, it bothered him.

He had a strange fascination for the man in front of him. Those red eyes had crossed his thoughts more than once since they had met five years ago. Such a small event shouldn't have had such significance for him and yet it did. Sasha wasn't stupid; he knew there was something different about the older man. Maybe not different in the same way as him, but different nonetheless.

Long fingers stroked the side of Sasha's neck contemplatively. Voldemort nodded slightly to himself. "You are special," He muttered and then spoke louder, "Come. You won't be going back. You will be residing here from now on. Do not bother fighting me; it is a battle that you will lose."

Voldemort tried to push the boy in front of him but Sasha dug his heels into the floor. He stood his ground. Voldemort glared demandingly. It was a look that had older, far greater men, shaking in their boots.

"I won't be bullied into this. I would join you willingly, you know." Sasha said, almost spitefully through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. "I don't need to be forced into anything."

Dark amusement flickered in Voldemort's eyes. "Why follow me? You don't know who I am. I am a Dark Lord. I killed those children—tortured them. I revelled in it. I will do so again. And again. And again. There will be no remorse. And should you join me, I will have you do that and much, much worse. Would you still choose to stand on my side? Even knowing this?"

Without hesitation, Sasha nodded. "I've been waiting for this, for you, for five years. I'm ready, no matter what the consequences."

He had planned to kill him. Voldemort always thought that when the time came he could easily make the decision to kill the boy. There was something about this Sasha Kamenev that drew him in. This was a sway Voldemort did not wish to have held over him. It was a weakness he did not want and frankly, one that he could not afford.

It should have been an easy decision. Kill him or lock him up. Either way, the boy had to be removed from the playing field.

It should have been easy, but it was not. Even before the boy had turned to face him, Voldemort had felt a rush of something he could not describe. It was like that feeling that had first drawn him to London, but much, much stronger. In that moment, Voldemort knew he would not be able to slay the boy like he did so many others. Everything about it—even the thought of it—seemed so wrong that not even _he_ would consider it.

The very act seemed to go against every instinctual feeling he never knew he had.

Besides that, Sasha had proven interesting. Eyeing the body of the young Death Eater, Voldemort could not help but evaluate the situation and appraise the job done considering the circumstances. He had not witnessed the act, but it was clear that Sasha could hold his own.

The boy was tough, a little wild perhaps, but apparently eager to serve him. He was young enough to mould and even if he was a muggle, Voldemort thought that there might be one or two things he could have the boy doing. And if nothing else, he had a certain intrigue about him that Voldemort was interested in deciphering.

"Very well," He conceded at last, looking down at Sasha and taking his hand off of him, "Come with me."

He watched as Sasha nodded and brushed past him. The desire to suddenly grab the boy was strong in the dark lord, but he dismissed it.

Instead, his long stride overtook Sasha's shorter gait and he led the boy to his own personal wing of the mansion, where he would be living from then on. Voldemort didn't know exactly what he was going to do with the child, but already plans were forming frantically in his head.

There were a great many possibilities.


	5. Chapter 04

**Hi guys, as always thanks for reading and reviewing. Enjoy!**

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><p><em><span>Chapter 04<span>_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies**

_..._

_[Four years later]_

_..._

Wars in the wizarding world were usually fast and brutal. They hit hard and ferociously and were devastating, but at least they burnt out rapidly and the people could get on with their lives. It was the one consolation of war.

Something that was non-existent this time.

There was no mercy; this war was long and hard and there seemed to be no end in sight. No one was sure if the nature of this war was a testament to the current Dark Lord's strength, but Voldemort certainly didn't make it seem like a weakness on his part.

The world was baffled as to why the Dark Lord Voldemort, the greatest, most powerful and feared man in history would not move on with his war. Everyone knew of the lord's plans for an epic coup, but yet he did not act. The grand question was 'why'? They suspected he was strong enough, he had enough followers and he had enough ambition. So why wait? Why not make his move?

No one knew. No one but Lord Voldemort, a few of his most loyal Death Eaters and the reason for his delay; Sasha Kamenev.

The country was scared by this lack of action. Men and women lay in their beds at night, kept awake by fear—though not yet with terror. But that would change soon enough. There were people now, criers on the streets, self proclaimed prophets shouting out their predictions of doom.

"You-Know-Who is coming, riding a steed as dark as night, a scythe in his grasp." They said.

"The end is nigh." They cried.

More and more these voices grew louder and more frequent. Soon there would be outcries, crowds of people muttering in corners about what is being, or could be, done. The fear was not enough to set people over the edge—not yet. The terror that would soon happen would be plenty to fuel the fire for uncontrollable citizens.

For now though, there was a brief moment where the tension was let build and the war inched forward every day. A battle here, an ambush there. Slowly, slowly, towards something bigger than the country had ever seen before.

But the Dark Lord's hesitation would not last forever. In fact, Sasha was quite aware that time was running out for the Light. Voldemort was just waiting for the _precise_ moment where his impact would be the greatest.

"Soon..." Sasha whispered to the cold room.

Sasha was different now. Stronger, older, bigger, better. It had been four years since he had joined Voldemort. Four years and he had spent every single day of that in training. Intense and difficult training. Preparation for the war. That was the reason why Voldemort had not made his move; he wanted Sasha alongside him when they made the final and brutal push and destroyed their opposition. He wanted a worthy servant by his side and he had deemed Sasha appropriate for that role.

His Lord was indeed a considerate master.

Sasha grinned to himself in the empty room. He was almost eager to let the action start. His training had been back breaking, bone-shattering, spirit draining. From wake to sleep Sasha had listened to his master and followed his will. That will had been for him to learn and to grow and to become strong. Stronger than any child his age, strong enough even to take on any fully grown witch or wizard. Voldemort did not have time for weak followers and Sasha would not let his master down.

He had been dutiful in his studies, determined in his training.

The result was a seventeen year old, ready to fight and eager for a change of scenery. He would be heavily involved in this war, Voldemort said. Sasha would have even more of a role than before. He was ready to enter a true battlefield and not embarrass his master.

So far, Sasha had fought against Aurors and other wizards. He had helped raid ministry buildings and had taken anything that might be used against them. He had served as an executioner once; personally dispatching of a Dark Albanian wizard who had attempted to take over Voldemort's role of Dark Lord of Britain. He had done anything his master asked—and more, much more.

But he had yet to fight the true enemies. Voldemort had told him of the resistance. That rebellious group the old wizard Albus Dumbledore had founded. The Order of the Phoenix. That was what they called themselves. A strong symbol. One that would be difficult to defeat.

He would relish the challenge.

They were a constant thorn in his master's side and Sasha wanted to help him remove the stain of the rebellion. He felt he needed to prove himself to his master—the destruction of Voldemort's arch-nemesis would do that.

Sasha had come into his powers late. He was fourteen before he learned that he too, was capable of magic. A late bloomer to be sure.

It had Voldemort turn on his heel and sit in silent contemplation for days. The ability to cast magic was, according to the Dark Lord, not limited to those who had magical parents. Occasionally, a child would be born to normal parents and would develop the gift by their own merit. This was probably the case with Sasha. Alternatively, one of his parents could have been a witch or wizard. But who knew?

The fact that his acquisition of magic had been late was, thankfully, somewhat alleviated by the fact that he seemed to be quite adept at controlling it. The base magic level, the one that Voldemort had sensed four years ago, was curiously high as well.

But he didn't _do_ it right.

Sasha didn't know what the difference was; he thought of a spell and the spell happened. Voldemort told him he did it wrong. He threw his magic strangely. As if he was drawing from a source other than his magical core.

But that couldn't be right because Sasha had no source other than his magical core.

He twisted the magic as he used it, Voldemort said. Made it spiral instead of spin. Sasha hadn't understood what his master had meant when he had said that and frankly it made little sense to him now either, but he got the gist of it.

He used magic in an unconventional way. This was neither a good nor a bad thing; it didn't help him to have it used like that and neither did it hurt. It just was. Voldemort soon conceded to letting him keep his style; he seemed to be fighting a lost cause. Eventually it was decided the fact that Sasha could use magic at all despite showing no aptitude until fourteen was a feat in itself and it was not worth fighting over little details.

Occasionally Sasha marvelled at Voldemort's tolerance of him. He, a potential muggle-born, a street kid, an orphan, was given the education and training that even many purebloods could not boast of having. Through no fault of his own, Sasha had impurities running through his veins. This meant that he, by Voldemort's ideals, should have been lower than the lowest Death Eater in his army.

But he was not.

He was treated fairly by his master, warmly by Bellatrix and Lucius, respectfully by the handful who knew his identity and fearfully by the rest of the ranks that had only encountered his mask. Sasha was not sure what he had done to earn such an honour from the Dark Lord—only that he was eternally grateful to him for it.

Voldemort's iron wrought ideals had never before or since been ignored for anyone. It was flattering to say the least.

With that in mind, Sasha had thrived under the careful instruction of Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself. His intense training had made him quite accomplished for one so young—or so he had been told. But Sasha was always wary of being too confident in such things; more often than not that was when a person could get beaten down.

He felt sure though, that he could hold his own in most situations. If nothing else, he had not neglected his physical training and had made a point of retaining his ability to fight without the use of magic. His ability to fight had improved with age; things he couldn't do in his thirteen year old developing body, he could now achieve without thinking twice.

It gave him great pleasure to feel an improvement when he so easily could have done away with all of the physical training. But the thing was; most wizards couldn't fight with fists. And if he had even just a little more knowledge than someone else then an extra hour of training would be worth it in the long run.

Or at least that was what he told himself to get through the day.

Over the years Sasha had pleased his master and was given the status to show it. He stood as Voldemort's right hand to become the Dark Lord's personal killer, hunter and defender— for all intents and purposes, his bloodhound. Even though it was plain to see that Voldemort was in no real need for such a thing.

Sasha didn't mind his role though; he was happy being under the man's rule. He had never wanted to be leader, to always plot and plan and move people around his will. Even back when he was on the streets he had felt that way. This life, the life of Voldemort's servant, suited him well.

He found himself happy to serve the Dark Lord. There was something deep inside of him that said to follow this man. An instinct that was stronger than the one for sleep or food or drink. It was the kind of instinct that one felt for breathing or to keep blood pumping. To fight it would be as senseless as trying to stop his heart or lungs.

Standing up from the desk he was sitting at, Sasha fixed his robes, ran a hand through his hair and then made his way out of the room. His personal chambers were in the same wing as the Dark Lord's but they might as well have not been. The manor was so large that an explosion could go off at one end and the tremors would not even be felt at the other.

It was deathly silent as he moved through the labyrinthine corridors.

He knew them well by now; a left there. A right here. A double left. Straight down. Through the courtyard. Up the steps. Right and then another. A final left and Sasha exited the private wing, venturing further into the vast mansion to the more communal areas.

Many Death Eaters lived here too. Men and women like the Lestrange family, who were on the run for supporting the Dark found safety here. They, of course, were not permitted into the Dark Lord's private wing, but it was still their home. It was also where their master held his meetings. The location was private, but everyone could be summoned there with ease.

The wards around the house meant that no one could track the traffic and inside was more than merely deadly. There were old traps, magic spells and Dark artefacts strewn across the mansion that would do only the most unimaginably cruel things to the poor sod who stumbled upon them. Any sort of unwanted attention on the mansion would not be pretty. And that wasn't even taking into account what Voldemort would do when he found out.

Travelling to the landing, Sasha arrived at the grand entrance with a double staircase and marble floors. He skipped down the stairs quickly and ventured across the hall, moving towards yet another corridor. He walked for a few moments before arriving at his destination.

Sasha made his way to a pair of large, heavy wooden doors. He pushed them open and walked through into the great hall. It was a place for balls and parties and meetings with the ranks. It was meant to have people in it.

At that moment it was being misused.

The room, which should have been done up with extravagant decorations, tables, guests, waiters and music or filled with rows of loyal, black cloaked Death Eaters, was bare. Save for one noticeable thing.

At the end of the vast room, Voldemort sat on his throne, head resting on a hand, watching Sasha as he advanced closer towards him. A Death Eater was on his knees, head bowed lowly. Sasha looked away to try and hide an amused smirk. He failed.

Voldemort watched him compose himself, seemingly uninterested with the Death Eater in front of his feet. Sasha bowed his head in respect. He didn't drop to his knees—never did. Not unless he was in trouble and that was a rare occurrence these days. A bow of the head was respect enough for the Dark Lord; he didn't require anything more from him.

Voldemort did it to show his Death Eater's that Sasha was separate from them. Something else that they were not and never would be. Even the best Death Eater's had to kneel to their master. Sasha still showed respect, he was still a servant, just different somehow. Not many of them knew how. Even fewer knew why. So few, in fact, that none of them did. Sasha himself was unsure of the reason, doubting any logic his mind provided him with.

"Rabastan here has displeased me," Voldemort said eventually, motioning to the man on his knees, "What do you suppose I do with him?"

There was no amusement in his voice, but Sasha knew when the Dark Lord was playing and when he wasn't. This was playing. Rabastan didn't seem to realise it though, as he stiffened visibly from his spot on the floor. Looking down at him with an evil grin, Sasha replied.

"Displeasing you is a close second to disobeying you, My Lord; such a _grave_ offence deserves an equally... morbid punishment."

"My Lord!" Lestrange pleaded quickly.

Voldemort put a hand up, scowling. "Enough." He commanded, hiding his own amusement. "What do you have in mind, hmm?" He asked, sounding ever so _interested_.

Sasha folded his arms behind his back. "My Lord, the offence was committed against you; only you can do the punishment any justice." His voice dripped with sickly sweet sincerity. It made Voldemort's lips twitch and his eyes glow.

"I think, Rabastan," He drawled, his gaze never leaving Sasha's, "That perhaps if the boy here was Dark Lord, you would not be leaving this room. But he is not, and I am a more merciful master. Consider yourself lucky, Rabastan, and remember this the next time you fail."

"Yes, my Lord." Rabastan agreed quickly.

"You are dismissed." Voldemort waved his hand with boredom. Rabastan quickly took his leave, making sure not to stick around, his head was down and his cheeks ever so slightly flushed.

Sasha watched him go. "That was mean." He remarked, grinning, when he heard the door bang shut.

"I did not think it would bother you."

Sasha raised his head a little, "I guess there's a lot you don't know about me." He said with half a grin.

Voldemort's lips quirked upwards, "I sincerely doubt that."

In truth, Sasha did too. Voldemort had an uncanny ability of knowing things that he should not. The man always seemed to have an infinite knowledge on everything—particularly when it came to what his followers were doing.

Voldemort didn't trust his followers and kept a close eye on them. Sasha had found traces of listening spells all over the mansion. The most had been in the hall, the dining areas, the gardens, but nowhere was safe. Voldemort seemed to have more faith in him though because Sasha had searched his bedroom tirelessly, trying to find any hint of the man's magic. He had come up blank.

Voldemort had not spied on him. Not through listening charms, spying spells or Legillimency.

He still knew pretty much everything despite that. Sasha could have driven himself crazy trying to find out how. It seemed to be some sort of divine power the man had. Though Sasha fancied he had one or two things he had kept privately to himself, the majority of his life was old news to the Dark Lord.

The line of conversation fell flat, so Voldemort changed it. "I have a mission for you." He said.

Sasha, unsurprised, nodded.

"You won't like it."

At this, Sasha hesitated. There were a great many things he didn't like doing. Voldemort never bothered informing him about them though. He was only told what to do and occasionally how to do it. Voldemort didn't bother consider how Sasha _felt_ about it. That raised questions; questions that Sasha didn't particularly want answered. "Go on." He said stiffly.

"I hope you read that history book on Hogwarts." The Dark Lord said cryptically.

Sasha had read '_Hogwarts, a History'_ when it was given to him three years ago. He had recently re-read it only a few months ago. Like all things, he had studied it, he had learned it. He knew the book inside-out. He knew the layout and the current events of Hogwarts just as well. Voldemort had told him to learn them back when he first got the book and he had. Did that mean... "You want me to break into Hogwarts?" He asked.

Voldemort laughed, "Of course not, silly child," He admonished gently, "Breaking into Hogwarts is much more dangerous than I am willing to allow for you presently."

Sasha frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "Then what?"

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and rested his chin on his fist with the arm of the chair propping him up. He was smiling. He was amused. It didn't bode well for Sasha. The Dark Lord was letting him stew in his ignorance. Sasha didn't like that. Still, he held his chin up high out of stubbornness and kept his cool.

He waited for Voldemort to speak.

"I think it only right you spend some time with people your own age."

Sasha took in Voldemort's words, his tone and his body language as he mulled through his sentence. He narrowed his eyes as he went through the information in his head. Suddenly, his eyes widened in understanding before narrowing again. He clenched his jaw, looking away.

"You want me to..." He struggled to find the words while keeping his displeasure in check, "..._attend_ Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"As a student?"

Voldemort smirked, "What else?"

Voldemort was right. Sasha _didn't_ like this. "This is ridiculous." He didn't want to go to Hogwarts, it was needlessly dangerous, suspicious and risky. Not to mention a waste of time. "You don't need any more spies within Dumbledore's ranks."

"No." He conceded, "I don't need any more spies. But you are not a spy, you never were."

Shaking his head, Sasha said, "I don't understand. Why would I go to Hogwarts if not to spy?"

"Dumbledore is a liar and a thief. He has something of great importance to me. Something that should rightfully be mine. I want it. You will infiltrate Hogwarts under the guise of a transfer student and you will obtain it for me." There was anger in his voice as he spoke of Dumbledore, but as Voldemort took a moment to pause, a tiny, sly smirk appeared on his lips. "Unless you think you cannot do this."

The voice was silk. Silk that was spun from a poisonous spider. The words were the poison. Sasha knew what Voldemort was doing; he knew what the man was thinking. It was not always wise to presume to know what the Dark Lord was thinking but in this case, Sasha knew. Sasha was being goaded. He heard the taunt. The suggestion that maybe he was too weak, too inexperienced, too _muggle_ to successfully complete this mission.

It was a challenge, blatantly obvious and almost lazy on the Dark Lord's part. But Voldemort had always known how to get a rise out of him and Sasha would not let his master down anyway. Besides, Sasha liked challenges; he really, really liked them. He didn't know Voldemort's reasons for such a risky move but it was sure to be interesting.

Whatever item was in Dumbledore's possession must have been very important for Voldemort to be so bold. It piqued Sasha's curiosity. Despite his previous hesitation, Sasha was slowly warming up to the notion that he would take this task on. Having decided that he would, Sasha nodded. "Tell me." He said.

Voldemort smirked. "Good boy." He said.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

He didn't know what he was doing there. He really, really didn't know.

Pushing through the crowds of parents saying goodbye to their children, Sasha managed to make it to the end of the platform. He hurried onto the train and found the furthest, most private compartment he could. Shutting the door, he huffed as he sat down onto the plush seat. He leaned back and folded his arms, a scowl on his features as he witnessed the happenings on the platform.

Outside, a little bit away, Lucius Malfoy was standing somewhat coldly beside his son. There were no warm embraces within the family, merely the customary nod of acknowledgement for the situation. Malfoy's didn't show emotion. It was weakness and it was common. They would not be caught dead blubbering like the rest of the rabble.

Lucius looked up from his bored stare across the crowd and glanced towards the train, catching Sasha's gaze. He gave a small smile and inclined his head ever so slightly. It wasn't enough for anyone to notice what he was doing. But Sasha knew.

Lucius Malfoy and indeed his equally blond haired progeny were warned not to acknowledge Sasha, to act as if they didn't know him. It would be suspicious for any of the pureblood families to know a mudblood such as him and certainly to show any sort of respect. Suspicion wasn't something Sasha wanted on him. That would probably come later, but if he could hold it off as long as he could, then why not?

Sasha knew of Dumbledore. He knew the man was supposed to be wise and strong and the direct opposition of Voldemort. Sasha read somewhere that Dumbledore was the person to discover the twelve uses of dragon blood. He didn't know if that was any particular reason to revere him, but the defeat of Grindelwald certainly was.

It meant that Dumbledore had fought against a Dark Lord before and had won. He had fought against Voldemort once and had won. Sasha wasn't a Dark Lord. He was nowhere near the power and might of a Dark Lord. He couldn't afford to have Dumbledore's suspicion. He needed Lucius to not mess this up for him.

Lucius held his gaze a little longer before covering his smirk in a gloved hand and looking away. Sasha rolled his eyes.

Lucius had held a strange fascination for him pretty much from day one. Not that he was complaining; the Malfoy head was a strong wizard and an impressive man. He was masterful when he duelled or dined. He was a loyal servant and a powerful ally. Sasha couldn't fault him and he couldn't deny there was a certain amount of flattery he felt at the man's attention.

The fact that Lucius, the head of one of the purest families in Britain, took an interest in him, a mudblood, was undeniably a boost to his ego. Still, Sasha couldn't help but feel exasperated by it on occasion. Couldn't the man take his mission at least a little seriously?

He knew Lucius had faith in him, but that kind of behaviour was putting obstacles directly in his path. Sasha knew it would only take one person to catch the look. The wrong person could cause him a lot of trouble. Sasha had enough on his hands with flying under Dumbledore's radar, never mind trying to deal with anyone else's.

"Excuse me?"

Sasha turned towards the voice, looking questioningly at the young witch who was standing in the doorway.

"Is it alright if we sit here?"

The witch was about his age. She stood uncertainly at the door but it didn't seem to be her usual demeanour. She held herself well, not hunched over and submissive but strong and self-confident. Her brown hair was curled and quite, quite bushy. She wore the school robes and Sasha thought they suited her a little better than they did him. He felt conspicuous in his clean, newly bought robes.

Sasha considered her question. He didn't want anyone inside this compartment with him; he needed to think, to ready himself for his mission. He wanted to go over everything one more time in his head, get all his details straight. Yet he was supposed to fit into the school, wasn't he? It was normal to make friends and get on with people, right?

He was sure that it was. He had to be pleasant. He had to be nice and sociable. Making waves was not something he could afford to do. He knew that.

"Sure, if you like." He said with a shrug, looking out again at the window as he heard the train's whistle blow. Lucius was leaving now, Draco had gone and he was alone, walking slowly away with half an eye Sasha.

"I'm Hermione." The witch said, holding out her hand and smiling pleasantly.

Sasha didn't particularly care. But that was not his job here. He gave a brief smile back and shook the girl's hand. "Sasha," He told her, "Nice to meet you."

Hermione smiled, pleased. "This is Ron," She said pointing to the red-headed boy who had just entered the compartment, "And this is Neville."

Ron nodded and Neville gave an uncomfortable half-wave. Sasha in turn nodded.

"What year are you in Sasha, I don't remember seeing you before." Hermione asked, sitting down across from him. She was looking at him with polite curiosity.

The whistle sounded outside and the train started to move. It chugged sluggishly out of the station and slowly started to pick up speed. Sasha took a very brief moment to swallow and go over his story in his head. "I'm new." He explained, "I'm supposed to be in seventh year now."

Hermione brightened. Neville and Ron did too. "Seventh year?" Neville said.

"Welcome to seventh year, mate." Ron said with a grin.

"We're going into seventh year too. It's so exciting! I've already read some of the material for this year and—"

Ron groaned, "Oh give it a break, Hermione," He said, "He doesn't want to be bombarded with what you've learned this summer."

Hermione sat back and looked a little put off. Sensing an opening, Sasha spoke.

"I don't mind..." Sasha said uncertainly, rubbing his arm. It was a show; of course, he wanted to convey a willingness to be friendly and polite but not alienating himself with the two boys in the process. He wasn't going to distance any of them. Sasha didn't know if he could afford to make a wrong move; he would have to be political.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Sasha, no one escapes Hermione's grasp once she gets her claws into you." Neville advised, grinning.

Hermione huffed and gave a mock glare to Neville. She puffed herself up in preparation to retort.

Whatever Hermione was going to say was interrupted by the sliding of the door and none other than Draco Malfoy appearing on the scene. He might have been an impressive sight for the others, but Sasha knew he was a pale shadow of his father, not yet filled out or tall enough to meet the man's silhouette. Hardly talented or dynamic enough to match Lucius' presence either.

"Well, well, well, the mudblood and the two traitors; what a surprise!" He sniggered, Crabbe and Goyle followed suit. Sasha watched impassively, but inside he was spitting orders at Draco to not screw this up. If he gave it away, Sasha swore then and there that he would strike the boy down dead.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Neville demanded agitatedly.

Draco gave him a long, bored look before his eyes moved across the compartment and over towards Sasha. Sasha tensed ever so slightly. "Who's this then?" Draco asked, feigning mild interest.

Sasha needn't have worried, it seemed; Draco understood what was required of him. "Sasha Kamenev." He said, slightly unsurely, hopping up to his feet and holding out his hand, looking wide eyed and hopeful.

The move surprised Draco and it took him a moment to remember his role and remind himself that Sasha was playing his own part. It must have been strange for him to see Sasha so open and pathetic, but he hid it well and even managed a sneer at the name. "Kamenev?" Draco asked, "A mudblood?" He spit.

Sasha played his part expertly. His hand retreated as if he got hit and he looked at Draco with big, hurt filled eyes. He frowned as if he was confused. This action immediately received a reaction from his new acquaintances and they hurriedly stood up, trying to give him some support.

"Go away Malfoy, before I hex you." Hermione threatened heatedly, pulling out her wand to add to her threat.

Ron drew his wand also. "We've all learned a thing or two this summer, Malfoy, do you really want to see what we've done?"

What a perfect bunch of avengers. Trust Sasha to get caught up with the do-gooders of Hogwarts. Voldemort would enjoy this when word got back to him.

Draco stood his ground for a few heartbeats. He sneered convincingly. "I wouldn't waste my time." He informed them, sticking up his nose. "Crabbe, Goyle; let's get out of here before we catch something from this _filth_."

The trio fled from the scene and Sasha watched them go, silently amused. Draco knew of his status, but the other two did not. Neither they, nor their fathers were trusted enough to have his identity revealed to them. There was a reason for that. Neither the boys nor their fathers were the sharpest tools in the shed. They didn't appreciate the need for subtlety and could easily mouth off about him in front of the wrong people.

The Dark Lord believed it was imperative for Sasha's identity to remain hidden. Most of the time, Voldemort made him wear a mask even amongst the Death Eaters. Only a handful had seen Sasha's face. If Crabbe and Goyle junior _or_ senior knew about him, it could spell disaster for any plans Voldemort had on a grand reveal.

Draco seemed to be doing a good job though. He wasn't Lucius, that was for certain, but he was better than Voldemort often gave him credit for.

"A no good weasel with father issues." That was what Voldemort had called him.

Sasha thought that it might have been a little unfair. The boy wasn't tough or particularly cunning or talented, but he was loyal to the cause and he had his father to ground him when his youth and enthusiasm went too far. Draco had been raised as the treasured only child of Narcissa Malfoy, a woman that was infinitely more maternal and gentle than her sister Bellatrix. He was used to being valued in the quiet, cold Malfoy way.

Unfortunately it meant that he sometimes thought he was important to Voldemort and his cause. Silly boy. No one was important to Voldemort and his cause beyond their use as a pawn for his plans. Even Sasha was under no such delusions. Voldemort disliked Draco's notions about his station and had taken quite an unwarranted aversion to him.

Because of this, he had warned Sasha to keep an eye out for "that meddling incompetent". Sasha had sworn that he would, but perhaps he did not need to. Draco was never going to be a right hand man. He was never going to be the warrior that stood against impossible odds and won. He was too smart to let himself be sent into a hopeless battle and not cunning enough to work as a spy for the Dark.

But that didn't mean he was useless. Perhaps Draco was a slightly blunt instrument, but even a blunt instrument, when used in the correct way, could be a powerful tool indeed. Even still, Draco would need a few more years and a bit more training before he could be of any use to Voldemort. And he had to face it; the Dark Lord would not go easy on Draco.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Sasha tensed and quickly looked to the source of his discomfort that was, ironically, supposed to be a comfort. Neville was looking at him with kind eyes. "Don't mind Malfoy," He said gently, "He's got a major stick up his arse."

Sasha wanted to smirk; instead, he focused on keeping the upset expression on his face. He swallowed and then nodded, "Thanks." He said, "You guys didn't have to do that."

"Don't mention it, mate," Ron replied easily, plopping himself back on the seat and putting his feet up on the other side, "No one bothers with Malfoy; he thinks he's Merlin's gift to the world, but he's really just a spoilt brat that's playing at being grown up."

Sasha could have laughed. If only they knew...

Sasha nodded and sat down. "I'm not too worried." He said. At least _that_ wasn't a lie. Even if Draco did mess something up—and there was still the possibility that he would—Sasha was confident it wouldn't be so bad that he wouldn't be able to fix it.

"So Sasha," Hermione said, "Where'd you go to school before coming here? Durmstrang?"

Sasha shook his head, "Ah, no," He corrected her, "I was... um, home schooled for a long time."

Hermione looked surprised. "Home schooled?" She asked, "I've never heard of a muggle born being homeschooled."

Sasha wondered if he should have gone into a career in acting. He moulded his expression into one that was equal parts guilt and equal parts shame. "I'm not muggle born actually. I'm—I'm a... half-blood." He admitted sheepishly.

"What's wrong with that?" Ron asked, sitting forward.

Marking a show of taking a breath, Sasha hesitated for the added effect. "My father was a muggle; he was Kamenev." Sasha paused, licking his lips, "My mother... well, she was Markova."

"Markova?" Neville exclaimed, jumping in his seat, "_You're_ Markova?"

They had heard of Markova. That was good.

Nodding solemnly, Sasha corrected him quickly, "Half Markova, really. I'm not like the rest of them though."

Neville nodded thoughtfully. Hermione frowned, looking between Neville and Sasha. "I'm not familiar with the Markova family. Are they purebloods?"

Sasha grimaced and looked away, swallowing awkwardly. "Excuse me." He said, quickly standing up and going outside, "I'll be back in a moment." He breathed as he rushed away.

He banged the door after him and appeared to flee the scene. Stopping as soon as he was out of sight, Sasha changed his demeanour entirely, becoming sure and more like himself. He leaned up against the panelling, listening to the trio inside, talking quietly about him. This was easier than explaining everything himself. Let Neville tell the others about his 'family'. Sasha could listen to how they react to the news and then adapt himself to suit their sensibilities.

"I don't know if I should say anything, Hermione, this is his business, I'm sure if he wants you to know he'll tell you himself." Neville was saying in the compartment, sounding entirely unsure.

"Come _on_, Neville," Ron tried, "_You_ already know about him, and we're not going to tell anyone."

There was a brief silence.

Sighing, Neville finally caved in, "Okay, but don't freak out or anything, got it?" There was a pause as Hermione and Ron agreed to keep their mouths closed, "The Markova aren't just a pureblood family, they're _the_ purest and oldest family in Russian history. They're infamous for more than just their lineage though; they've been involved in practically every dirty deed in Russia. I mean thievery, murder, fraud—not to mention support of pretty much every Dark Lord from now to Merlin's time."

"Then Sasha's a suspicious person?" Hermione asked in a whisper that was loud enough for Sasha to hear.

"No, I don't think so," Neville said, "Blood superiority was practically born within the Markova family. I've never heard of anyone marrying outside of the family, let alone having a half-blood child. I bet the Markova weren't pleased with Sasha when he was born."

As they mused over this, Sasha checked over himself, making sure he looked the part before he made his reappearance. He opened his collar and ran a hand through his hair. He put up an expression of shame with a touch of hauntedness and shuffled back over and in to the compartment, head down, eyes lowered.

"Sorry about that." He mumbled as he took his seat.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked with true concern.

Sasha looked up at her and sighed, "I should tell you something; my family have done... questionable things before. They've been involved with a lot of shady deeds. You should probably know that now." He shrugged, looking slightly stronger now, "But I'm not my family. They've disowned me and my mother. We haven't been in touch with them for many years. I have no connections to them, I—" His breath hitched.

"It's okay, mate." Ron said uncomfortably.

Shaking his head, Sasha continued, "No, you have to understand this so you know that I'm not a bad person. The Markova _hate_ me; I'm everything they stand against. When I was born, my mother received a letter explaining that she had one chance to save herself; to kill me and bring them my head."

There was a collective gasp in the compartment and Sasha let a short pause follow it before continuing.

"When she didn't, they sent people to kill us. We spent years going around, travelling, in order to stay hidden. We've had to move constantly so that no one caught up with us. That's why I've been home schooled until now, Hermione. But I think Hogwarts should be safe; they won't suspect my presence here because no Markova has _ever_ sent their child to here. Professor Dumbledore knows of my, ah, circumstances already and he says that I will be safe but I hope you won't tell anyone else about this; I want to keep it quiet. If they find out that I'm here..."

And if anyone found out he was lying about the whole thing...

"You can trust us." Neville said heroically.

Sasha gave an appreciative smile, eliminating any potential dark humour he might be showing through his mask. "Thank you," He said sincerely, "You're good people."

Ron scratched his neck, Neville looked down and Hermione blushed. "Don't mention it." She said.

"No, I mean it. I've never met anyone who was so accepting of my blood status." He smiled then, briefly, "If the rest of the school is anything like you, I think I'm going to enjoy it here."

They all looked embarrassed. "Don't mind me," Sasha said quickly, as if he thought he'd gone too far, "I just never really had any friendly faces, you know?"

"Where did you live? It can't have been in Britain surely?" Hermione seemed to be baffled at the cruelness she was hearing. Sasha didn't blame her; he had just made it all up after all.

"We travelled around a lot. Asia mostly, even the Markova don't go in there unless they have to. I guess as long as we travelled there, we weren't worth the hassle." Sasha explained.

Hermione nodded sagely. "I must admit," She said, "I don't know much about wizards in Asia."

"No one does," Neville replied, "Not really. But it can be dangerous. Gran says there's always some Dark Lord trying to rise to power over there."

Sasha nodded. "It's usually that way." He looked out the window, hoping they would start to talk about something else. He pretty much knew everything he needed to, but he only prepared for what _he_ would think of asking. Who knew what someone else would ask? With any luck they would think he didn't like to talk about his past and would leave him alone.

No such luck.

"I don't know how anyone can live with more than one Dark Lord in their time. It's bad enough with You-Know-Who." Ron said.

This piqued Sasha's interest. "Who?" He asked, both because he was in character and because he wanted to know if what Lucius had told him was true; people really didn't dare to speak Voldemort's name.

The trio shared a look. Neville leaned forward. "The Dark Lord."

Sasha stared at them blankly.

"His name is... Voldemort." Hermione whispered, glancing to the door with paranoia.

Sasha frowned and flicked his eyes over to where the witch was looking. He then moved forward too. "Why are you whispering?" He asked softly.

"No one speaks his name." Ron informed him, looking paler than a minute ago, "Not unless you have a death wish."

Sasha's lips threatened to rise. To hide it, he sat back and crossed his arms. "That bad, huh?" He asked.

Lucius was right; the public were cowards, unable to even speak a name. They were weak, frightened little rabbits. No wonder Voldemort wanted to purge them. He could imagine how frustrating it must have been for the Dark Lord to have to tolerate these people. And Voldemort wasn't the most tolerant person at the best of times anyway.

Sasha imagined that watching his master back then would be the equivalent of watching a bomb about to explode but with no idea what number was on the timer.

Neville nodded, "He even has people in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Sasha said, sounding startled.

"But don't worry." Hermione assured him quickly, "We're completely safe there; not even You-Know-Who can get us there."

"Why have people here? It's just a school, right?"

They squirmed as he looked between them. They lowered their eyes momentarily. "Dumbledore's pretty influential in Britain." Ron explained, "He's also _really_ powerful; people say that he's Voldemort's only equal. But he's a pacifist and he won't fight."

"And the Dark Lord's followers? They make sure Dumbledore is remaining pacifistic?" He asked, as if trying to figure out the presence of the Death Eaters.

"We don't really know, but probably." Neville said.

Somehow, Sasha suspected that they did know. He wondered if they weren't telling him the truth because they were being smart and taking the cautious route. That was good. That meant they weren't complete idiots. By remaining vague they were distancing themselves and Dumbledore from the Order of the Phoenix that Sasha knew for a fact they were a part of. It was best to just go along with it.

Sasha hummed in consideration. "I don't suppose you know who those followers are? I want to stay as far away from them as possible." He said softly.

"Can't you guess?" Ron asked, "Malfoy, obviously."

"Malfoy? The boy who came in here?" Sasha raised a brow, as if it was a huge surprise. Silently he vowed to warn the boy he was too obvious doing whatever it was he was suspected of. He supposed Lucius must know Draco was considered to be a Death Eater. Lucius himself was heavily suspected of his association with Voldemort. Sasha supposed it wouldn't be any great jump to conclude the son was following his father's steps.

"Yes, that's him," Hermione admitted, throwing Ron a dark look, "But to be honest, we don't really know if he's a Death Eater or not. We only suspect; everyone knows his father is a Death Eater and most pureblood families follow You-Know-Who's ideals anyway so it's likely that he is but we have no definite proof."

"I understand."

Sasha wondered if he should bother send word that even school children were onto Voldemort and his followers. Probably not. If they hadn't at least had an inkling of his people, then Sasha would not have been able to understand why his master hadn't destroyed them all years ago. Besides, they clearly had no proof, otherwise Lucius Malfoy would be in Azkaban, rotting away nicely. No, unless he was asked, Sasha wasn't going to risk having a message intercepted.

It was a strange notion for him, to be out of contact with Voldemort for so long. He wasn't going be able to get in touch with him except for the very odd occasion when he had something important to report. Sasha didn't mind that; after years living on his own, he instantly felt freer being out from under the confined environment of Voldemort's mansion.

That would probably change with time. Sasha had never formally been to school; the orphanage had only provided some sort of feeble attempt at one and even Voldemort's training was not what he would consider a conventional schooling. Having said that, he knew from what other people said that school was not something he should be looking forward to.

This was probably going to be his most challenging mission yet.

For the first time in years, Sasha felt a flutter in his stomach. He eventually distinguished the feeling as a mixture of nerves and excitement. After four long years of training, Sasha finally felt a part of this war.

"How long does this journey take?" Sasha asked suddenly, a light shining in his eyes that hadn't been there before.


	6. Chapter 05

**_Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Hope you enjoy this one_**

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><p>...<p>

_Chapter 05_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The first years walked into the great hall and towards the sorting hat that would decide their fate as Hogwarts students. Sasha was walking behind them. He could hear the whispers, the murmurings. He kept his eyes forward and his chin up high.

He didn't like the attention, _really_ didn't like the attention. It seemed to be against everything he had tried to achieve; to keep a low profile, to stay out of sight, to not make waves. Judging by the sound level and the many pairs of staring eyes, Sasha would say he failed in that regard.

It wouldn't have been so bad, even, if he had been a first year. But he clearly was not. People were curious about him and though Sasha didn't like it, he accepted that it would be an inevitability considering the circumstances.

"This way, My Kamenev." Was all that was said as he was whisked away from his newfound friends by a witch named McGonagall. And that was how he found himself shuffling down the great hall with a bundle of first years and a large audience.

Sasha towered over even the tallest one. He would have when he was eleven anyway and now it was just all the more obvious. It was awkward, frankly. He, unlike the others, had no one to hide behind. He couldn't group himself in with the rest because he was so obviously not one of them.

The two children immediately in front of him kept on glancing back nervously as if he might suddenly attack them from behind. It was such a stupid thought that Sasha decided not to do anything to quell their fears. He didn't make it harder on them, however—and he could have, but he certainly didn't assure them.

Let them squirm. Making friends with eleven year olds certainly wasn't on his agenda.

He stopped paying attention to the first years as he caught his first real glimpse at Albus Dumbledore. He found himself surprised. Sasha understood why people considered him to be an equal to Voldemort; the man radiated a quiet power that was impossible to ignore. Sasha was no longer sure who was more powerful; his master or the headmaster. He would have said previously, purely from an idealistic standpoint that there was no way Voldemort could lose.

But Sasha should have not been so quick to judge. This was the destroyer of Grindlewald. This man had defeated and almost killed Voldemort. He was a hundred and fifteen years old but he still looked like had some life in him. He looked sharp. Not like the doting old man that Voldemort had painted a picture of.

Sasha felt a sudden spike of fear. This was who he was going to be competing against in Hogwarts. He suddenly remembered why he had not been eager to accept Voldemort's order. The man had goaded him into it and though he would have eventually conceded anyway, Sasha was angry with himself that he gave in without a fight.

More than ever, Sasha appreciated that it was imperative he stay under the radar—or at the very least that he not arouse suspicion. He was equal parts nervous and excited about the prospect of challenging himself in such a manner.

Once Sasha and his group of first years made it to the end of the hall, Dumbledore stood up. The room, full of curious mutters, quietened immediately. The effect was almost as impressive as when Voldemort did it.

"As you can see," Dumbledore said as he looked around the room slowly, "In addition to our newest first years we have another student joining us. I would like you all to welcome Sasha Kamenev; he will be attending Hogwarts as a seventh year student."

There was a subdued clapping among the four tables. Dumbledore continued.

"As Mr. Kamenev is oldest, we have decided this year that he should go first in the sorting."

Sasha eyed the sorting hat with distaste. The thing looked diseased; it was old and ratty and well past its sell-by date. Would he have to put that on his head? He hoped not. He might catch something.

"Mr. Kamenev? If you would?" McGonagall gestured to the stool Sasha was supposed to sit on while she walked over to the sorting hat and carefully picked it up. Sasha made his way over to the stool; he glanced up at the figure of Severus Snape who was sitting inconspicuously in his chair.

Sasha glanced at him without meeting his gaze. The man was working for Voldemort under the guise of spying on him for Dumbledore. Or at least that was what he said. No one truly knew Snape's loyalties. Everyone presumed and speculated, but no one knew for sure.

Voldemort seemed to believe in his control over the potions master. Sasha wasn't altogether convinced. Snape was a brilliant spy. It was in his nature to want to hide. Besides, he was already a double agent; it wouldn't take much for him to become a triple agent, working for no one but himself.

Sasha knew because as a younger teen, before Voldemort, he had done it himself more than once. He saw the benefits of sitting on the fence and viewing everything objectively, picking out the course of action that would be most beneficial in the long run.

Yet Voldemort's trust was not altogether complete. He would never say anything and he certainly never challenged Snape on his word, but there was a lot that was kept private from the man. He was among Voldemort's most trusted, to be sure, but he was just on the fringe. He was the only one who didn't know Sasha's identity.

The reason given for it had been that if Snape was ever caught, they might gleam something from his mind, but really, Snape was an Occlumens. A bloody good one. And realistically, the enemy would not immediately be concerned with Sasha's identity.

Voldemort's plans and location would be foremost on their minds. By the time they came around to asking about the Dark Lord's right hand, Snape would be well and truly dead. Voldemort would have killed him through the mark. He supposed Snape must know that himself.

Sasha dropped his eyes and settled himself on the stool. Now wasn't the time to worry about Snape's loyalties. Now was the time to worry about the mangy old hat that McGonagall was moving to put on his head. Sasha didn't really care what house he was put into. Voldemort hinted that he wouldn't mind if his ward was put into Slytherin, but admitted that it would be better for Sasha to be housed somewhere else. Sasha personally didn't care.

What would happen would happen.

The hat was put on his head. It came alive with a jolt.

"Oh my, my, my..." It muttered softly so only Sasha could hear, "Not in my many, many years of service have I ever been given one of your kind to sort."

Sasha fought the urge to physically react.

"_My kind?"_ Sasha thought. _"What am I?"_

It was a question that he had wanted answering for a very long time. What was he? There were differences, little ones—but still too many—between him and normal humans that made him believe he wasn't just a regular person with gifts but something else entirely. Whatever it was, it wasn't all that human. He was sure of that much.

Voldemort seemed to think the same. It was the magic. He had said. The magic that Sasha should not have had but did anyway. And the way he used it. Never before had he seen someone use magic like that. Spirals instead of swirls, Voldemort had said. And nothing until he was fourteen too. It was strange. Very strange indeed.

The sorting hat laughed, "You expect me to have your answer? How am I supposed to know that? I'm just a hat..." The hat scrunched up its face in deep consideration. "Still, I sense that there is power in you. More than you know. It hasn't been awakened yet but it's there, lying in wait, bubbling at the surface. Interesting, I must admit. Very, very interesting. I'm curious to know what's to become of you."

Again, the voice was low, so low that Sasha could barely hear the words uttered from the hat's mouth. When he spoke again, it was down to business and for all to hear.

"But enough of that. Hold still for a moment, your thoughts are jumping from one place to the next. I can barely get a clear read on you when you're that hyperactive... Ah, now there, that's perfect. Stay exactly as you are... Well, well, well, you're not a Hufflepuff; that much is for sure, you're much too brutal for them. Can't say I'm surprised either. You're smart and there _is_ a thirst for knowledge deeply imbedded in you. That's good trait to have in any Ravenclaw, I suppose... but that's not you either. Not quite. No... Hmmm..."

The hat stopped for a moment as it dug deeper into Sasha's head, "There's a great deal of power within you, and a drive for constant improvement on your part. Oh, but that's not quite right either. I suppose, you could be...but no, there is not the right amount of fierce ambition for Slytherin. Ah, what is this, hmm? Oh yes, yes, I sense great loyalty in you, great bravery; it would put Godric Gryffindor himself to shame... Ah, but you have none of his trust, do you? No, you do not even trust me to put you in the right place. Such suspicion is not common in a Gryffindor."

The hat paused for a moment and made a 'humming' noise as it scrunched its face up in consideration.

"I must say, you are a conundrum, Sasha Kamenev; I can't quite put my finger on you... Have you any preference to which house I send you into?"

"I don't care." Sasha muttered in response without hesitation.

The sorting hat chuckled. "No, you don't. I can see that clearly." It stopped and took Sasha into consideration again, "You are equally likely to fit in Slytherin and Gryffindor; a rare occurrence indeed. Yet, it is my duty to place you somewhere so I shall. Are you sure you do not mind where you go? Completely sure? No preferences at all? Yes? Alright then, I have made my decision; I will place you in..."

The hat paused once more, either to make the final decision or to create suspense, Sasha wasn't sure which. Eventually, it shouted out its answer.

"_Gryffindor!"_

Applause erupted in the hall and Sasha had the hat taken off of his head. He sauntered easily down to the Gryffindor table. He knew that despite Voldemort's understanding of being in another house, he would probably be irked that it was Gryffindor of all places that he was put.

Good. Let him steam away.

Served him right for sending Sasha to Hogwarts in the first place. Yes, it was spiteful of him, immature, but who cared? He deserved to have a moment or two of self-pity. Voldemort had essentially positioned him right in the belly of the beast.

He sat down at the table beside someone he had never seen before and trained his eyes on the first years who were getting sorted. He wasn't really looking at them, but it was a convenient way to let his mind wander.

He wondered how much Dumbledore knew, or even suspected. The old man made it seem like he was only half there. He appeared to be a well-meaning fool; too soft for his own good. Yet his three new friends had thought of him as Voldemort's equal. And Sasha certainly felt that he could be. There must have been some truth to it.

Sasha studied the headmaster of Hogwarts. He was wearing ridiculously flamboyant robes; vivid blue and yellow birds in textiles that shimmered brightly under the lit candles of the hall. The effect matched his twinkling eyes. Those eyes were presently staring straight at him.

Sasha quickly looked down at his hands.

Damn it.

He didn't need any sort of attention drawn to him. Something as small as being caught studying the man could be noted. Any more notes after that could be suspicious. Sasha didn't know how much Dumbledore knew or suspected. He thought the story they had fed the headmaster was convincing and likely to happen but what if he knew something? What if Snape really was working for him and had found out something? Any of these things could spell disaster for Sasha.

Risking a glance back up, Sasha saw Dumbledore smile kindly at him and then avert his attention to the terrified first years. That was all. Nothing more. No hint of doubt or suspicion. For the moment, at least, Sasha was okay.

Breathing a subtle sigh of relief, Sasha concluded that Dumbledore wasn't distrustful of him, just intrigued by the new student. Doubtless he had heard Sasha's supposed 'past' and was just concerned about him. Yes, that must be it. It was his job to be interested in the students after all.

A little more at ease now, Sasha patiently waited for the feast to begin. He wasn't particularly hungry but the sooner it started the sooner he could finish and head up to his new bedroom. All this excitement was tiring.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"C'mon, now, got a nice class for yeh today. Try ta keep up!" Hagrid stopped suddenly as he turned and looked down at one particular student, standing patiently with the rest of the class, "New, are yeh?" He asked.

Sasha nodded, "Yes." He said.

"You study Care o' Magical Creatures before?"

Licking his lips, Sasha half shook his head, "Only from books. Not in practise. Not for the most part anyway."

Hagrid considered this for a moment. Sasha watched him. He wondered if the half-giant would make him give up the class because of his lack of experience. He supposed it wasn't necessary for him to actually attend this elective; it wasn't like he was going to be graduating or even doing any exams. But still... Sasha _wanted_ this. He liked animals, always had. One time he had even tried to bring home a stray dog in the orphanage. He hadn't succeeded of course, but that was hardly surprising.

Either way, he felt that he deserved something he wanted for himself in this damn place. Voldemort wouldn't be impressed that he was wasting a whole subject on this, but then, Voldemort wasn't here, was he? And there was very little Voldemort could do to show his displeasure—while Sasha was in Hogwarts anyway.

"I'd like to, though." Sasha added softly.

"Fair enough," Hagrid concluded, "S'pose it don't matter. Just don't push yerself too far until yer ready."

"Of course, professor." Sasha nodded.

Hagrid gave a beaming smile, "Okay then," He boomed happily, "Let's get a move on."

They followed Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't far past its border, just enough for the sight of the castle to disappear. He led them to a corral made of tough wood. Penned in the middle of the enclosure was a winged horse. It thrashed its head as it stamped around the corral, swishing its tail as it went. It had a chestnut, almost red coat with matching wing feathers that ruffled agitatedly with the appearance of so many new people.

Whinnying, the horse reared its head and half-skipped onto its hind legs and back again. Feeling threatened by the strangers, the horse stamped the ground and jittered on the spot.

"Aethonan," Hagrid said, stepping closer to the enclosure. "That's what he is. Got 'em from a breeder in Flintshire. Thought I'd call 'im Alvin."

'Alvin' was about the size of a normal horse—maybe a large normal horse—but still a normal horse. Sasha quickly ran through any information he had on winged horses in his head.

"Related to the abraxan, he is," Hagrid said as Sasha came to the same conclusion by himself, "An' the thestral. But they ain't as dangerous. Least not accordin' to the Ministry; he's only a XXX. Smart 'nough though."

Hagrid went on to explain that aethonans were indigenous to Britain and Ireland but were found in other places sometimes. They weren't as large as abraxans, smart as thestrals or fast as granians but still a sight in themselves.

"Yeh'd want ta be careful though," Hagrid continued as he went over to the gate and opened it, letting himself in to the corral, "Can get a mite bit temperamental at times. 'Specially when it gets flustered. But they ain't as hard to calm down as them abraxans."

Aethonans ate normal horse-food. Grass and oats and things like that. Occasionally they had a taste for meat, but that was rare and only in small portions. So there was nothing to worry about—unless you were a rabbit or something equally as small.

Hagrid approached Alvin slowly, cooing gentle words as he held his hands out in a well meaning gesture. The winged-horse gazed at him with wariness, snorting out hot air daringly. Sasha almost expected the half-giant to get pummelled by the creature, but surprisingly, he stood in front of it unharmed.

"Here, Alvie," Hagrid crooned gently. There were oats in his hand. Alvin watched with sudden interest, letting out a longing neigh as he took a tiny step forward, his neck stretching out in lieu of his body advancing. Hagrid clearly knew what he was doing; he let the searching muzzle of the aethonan come to him and allowed the time for its body to follow.

The aethonan stepped into him and ate the offered treat. Hagrid allowed him to finish and then threw a head collar over the aethonan's face and tied it loosely. Alvin no longer seemed to have much trouble with Hagrid's presence and as soon as he had finished nibbling the oats from the half-giant's hand, the aethonan found nothing wrong with following after him.

"Yeh wanna give him a rub?" Hagrid asked the class, "Shouldn't be a problem. Jus' scared before now, wasn't he?"

The aethonan was just standing there beside the fence, its tail swishing easily, eyes going over the students with barely any interest. Sasha stepped forward and suddenly, Alvin's attention stuck to him. A low rumbling neigh shuddered from the aethonan's chest.

Sasha's eyes flickered over to Hagrid to make sure everything was still okay. Not seeming to be worried, Hagrid was just his standard casual contented self. Turning back to the aethonan, Sasha held out his hand, allowing Alvin to examine it before he moved on to the muzzle, the cheek and then up to the twitching ears. Sasha scratched behind them, smiling softly as the aethonan turned into his touch and pushed against it, enjoying the sensation.

After a few moments, Sasha became conscious of the fact that he was being watched by everyone in the class. He licked his lips, ran his hand down the Alvin's long neck and patted it twice, removing himself from the horse.

He stepped back into the ranks.

He hadn't meant to draw attention to himself in any way during his stay in Hogwarts. He wondered if this would amount to anything. Watching as another student approached the aethonan, Sasha figured that it probably wouldn't.

Alvin snapped at the next student who came up to him, shaking his head and backing up. He pulled against Hagrid's hold on him and became agitated, snorting and stamping once more.

"Guess that's all yeh can take, ain't it Alvie?" Hagrid muttered as he undid the head collar and allowed the aethonan to trot off to a comfortable distance in his corral. "Sorry kids," He said, shaking his head, "Alvin ain't ready fer much attention jus' yet. Wouldn't wanna push it; aethonans can sure hold a grudge. It'll 'ave to be theory fer the rest o' the class."

Hagrid thought them how to look after aethonans, how to train them, breed them, befriend them. It was interesting stuff, and Sasha found himself surprisingly engrossed in the whole experience. It was kind of nice to not have Voldemort's constant threat of disapproval all the time. He was almost startled when Hagrid called it a day. Sasha looked over at Alvin once more as he gathered his book and parchment.

"Reckon you've got a way with them creatures." Hagrid said, wandering over to him.

Sasha looked up, surprised. "I'm sure I was just lucky." He said with a self deprecating smile, "Haven't really had much experience with them; I could have just as easily offended him."

"Maybe..." Hagrid said, scratching his head, "But I don't think so. Yeh did all the right things, yeh know?"

Sasha smiled and looked around, wondering how long ago the last student left. "Well..." He said, "I suppose I'll see you next time."

"Right so." Hagrid said with a nod.

Sasha left then, glancing back towards the aethonan with a frown.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"I'm glad you were sorted into Gryffindor, Sasha." Hermione said as they sat down in their first charms class of the year. Charms class was not exactly new to Sasha, but the experience of a charms classroom was novel and exciting.

Sasha nodded. "Me too." He agreed, "Although, I would have been happy in anywhere once I wasn't with Malfoy." He grinned with false sincerity.

Hermione laughed, "Yeah, he's probably the worst part of Hogwarts." She agreed quietly.

It was just Hermione and him in charms class. Ron and Neville were absent for some reason; something to do with Quidditch. A meeting perhaps. Or maybe it was because they were caught using brooms in the courtyard and were being lectured to at that very moment. Sasha wasn't sure; he hadn't found it interesting and had not listened when they explained their circumstance to him. Either way, they were not there to bother him with questions about things he didn't care for. Things like Quidditch and, for reasons he couldn't understand, veelas. Not to mention Parvati Patil and her sister Padma.

Ahead of them, two girls glanced back and smiled sweetly when they saw him looking. They turned around and exchanged pleased whispers between each other, giggling behind their hands. Sasha knew they were Gryffindors but he had yet to meet them. Then again, perhaps he had; he was acquainted with so many people in the last few days that he could barely remember half of who he met.

"Sorry about them." Hermione grimaced, eyeing the girls distastefully. Her hand moved to her hair, grabbing a handful in exasperation.

Sasha knew he was good looking. In fact, he was quite handsome. Voldemort said it was his eyes, Lucius claimed it was his exoticness. Bellatrix said it was his brutality—but then, she would say that.

Even before meeting Voldemort, Sasha had used it to his advantage on more than one occasion. People simply responded better to it. He was listened to more intently, his enemies were more wary. He could even talk himself out of situations he shouldn't have. Not all the time, mind. It was just more likely that he would.

Therefore, the fact that there were girls taking an interest in him wasn't exactly unexpected. He wondered why Hermione thought it was such a bad thing. He glanced at her. Cheeks reddened and eyes looking down at her book a little too intently—and pointedly not at him.

His eyebrows rose in understanding.

Oh.

Well that was useful.

Who would have thought? She liked him. Hermione _liked_ him. He hadn't seen it coming, but he should have; he _had_ gone out of his way to act appealing to her, after all. That could be used to his advantage. He knew he'd have one person rooting for him anyway. She would be more likely to ignore any strange behaviour that accidently happened. And it was always handy to have someone to give a character reference. Especially when that someone was Hogwarts golden girl, Hermione Granger.

"Right everyone!" Professor Flitwick announced as he entered the room, hurrying to stand on his platform. "We're going to go over last year's charms today so please open your books on the first chapter." He paused then and looked down at a sheet of paper in his hand. His head rose and his eyes roamed the room. He locked onto Sasha.

"Mr. Kamenev," He said, "I realise you are new so you can use this class as an indication of if you need to catch up on anything."

Sasha nodded dutifully, "Yes, Professor." He said.

Sasha already knew a great a many of the charms that were scheduled to be learnt this year. Voldemort had not allowed summer or Christmas breaks. Midterms were a thing he only learned of from Hermione. A working day on nine to four was a half day as far as Voldemort was concerned. The Dark Lord was driven and he expected his servant to be equally so.

Voldemort ensured that Sasha had not been bound to any curriculum. He made sure Sasha went far beyond what the normal wizard would know and have learnt. Voldemort pushed him hard and now, Sasha could see how much harder than normal.

There were a few spells, one or two that Sasha didn't recognise, but he would catch up on them starting tonight. For the most part, however, Sasha felt that he was ahead of the curve.

Still, he listened dutifully in the class, finding the charms simple and for the most part useless, but interesting nonetheless. Hermione practically beamed at the end as she announced she was glad to finally have a charms partner that was actually enthusiastic about work for a change. Sasha agreed with her that it was nice to study with other people—and especially her.

But that was just to make her blush.

As they got up to leave, Draco Malfoy knocked into them, pushing Sasha away and into a desk as he moved past. "Watch it, mudblood." He sneered as he vacated the room.

Sasha watched him go with narrowed eyes. Draco was definitely taking to his new role well. This wasn't the first time he had out-right targeted Sasha. Draco was taking his duties to heart and Sasha felt that he may need to remind him of his place.

There was such a thing as overacting and Sasha would not stand for that. He knew what Draco was doing; these few months would perhaps be the one chance he would get to treat Sasha with something other than absolute reverence. Draco was getting his digs in now, under the guise of following orders so that no matter what, Sasha would not be able to reprimand him when they got back.

It was a good plan with one major flaw; Sasha wasn't going to wait until he got back.

Indeed, it seemed he needed to pay Draco a visit. He would do it soon. He needed to start snooping around at night anyway to search for Voldemort's item. Sasha would do it then.

"Urgh," Hermione growled angrily, "He's just _so_ annoying. I swear if it wasn't against the rules, I'd hex him right now." She was shaking, her hands clenched and white.

Sasha studied her, considering her behaviour. "It's alright," Sasha said, voluntarily putting his hand on Hermione's shoulder. Inwardly he cringed at the action but it didn't show on his face, "Don't let him get to you."

"It's not me I'm angry for; it's you." Hermione replied heatedly, glaring towards the doorway that Malfoy had left from. "I don't know how you can stand him targeting you like that."

"Malfoy's no threat for me. I can handle him fine."

Her anger dampened by helplessness, Hermione nodded with defeat. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am." Sasha said with a grin as started to walk. "Come on; don't let it get you down."

Hermione smiled as she followed him.

Damn, he was a good actor.

But it didn't change the fact that Malfoy had better watch out.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Homework was light for the first week.

Sasha supposed that must be why he had finished it so quickly. Having nothing better to do and deciding to put off the continuation of his mission, Sasha had snuck away from the Gryffindor tower and made his way outside.

The weather was still pleasant enough to sit outside and there were a few people scattered around the lawns, chatting and playing and enjoying themselves.

Sasha had no desire to partake in those activities and instead opted for a less social action. He travelled down towards the lake. Not wanting to be disturbed by anyone, Sasha found an area that was out of the way and protected from prying eyes by a tuft of trees. Deeming it suitable for his purposes, Sasha sat himself down on the grass at the side of the still waters.

The grass was mossy and wet and Sasha knew his clothes would be damp by the time he moved again. Thankfully, he had magic and it would fix that problem without any trouble. Magic, Sasha had to admit, made his life easier in a lot of ways. Sometimes he didn't know how he'd lived without it. Other times he didn't know how he could live with it.

Sasha found that magic had the paradoxical effect of being both a godsend and a nuisance—often in the same breath. It made life much simpler in many ways and in others it complicated everything. Sometimes—though he would never admit this to Voldemort—Sasha missed muggle technology. He missed electricity and microwaves and television and cars of all things.

He had always liked cars. Appreciated their lines and angles, the speeds they could reach, the ways they could move. On the streets, Sasha would, at best, always be poor. He would never have gotten a car anyway. Unless he stole one, of course. But really, ownership of a car was just a wish. Even still, he missed sitting on the overpasses and watching the cars go by, dreaming that one day he might own one of them.

Looking out at the water, Sasha smiled at the thought. He reached into his back pocket and took out an old beaten pack of cigarettes. They looked mangy by this point; having been smuggled from the very bottom of his wardrobe, to the very bottom of his suitcase and finally, they had been stuffed into his trouser pocket. Despite their shoddy appearance though, they still worked perfectly.

Magic was handy, but Sasha still enjoyed the ritual of smoking.

He took out a dented Zippo lighter and brought the cigarette up to his lips. With only a few attempts, it finally created a flame and Sasha lit the tobacco.

Hogwarts, as far as Sasha knew, didn't have any rules about smoking cigarettes, but that was probably because they didn't have many people coming in with the desire to. Sasha knew he would be in trouble if he got caught but he wasn't going to waste his chance.

Voldemort hated him smoking. He said it was a disgusting, smelly, filthy muggle habit and he had forbidden Sasha to do it ever again. Sasha had fought his master and said that it was one thing he wouldn't give up, but in the end—as always—Voldemort won and Sasha promised to stop. He hadn't exactly done that though. Sasha smoked only if he thought Voldemort would not find out or if he was away from the mansion.

Or if he was feeling spiteful and petty. Though that wasn't often; it usually didn't benefit Sasha to be petty and spiteful.

Now, being so far away from Voldemort and his infinite awareness, Sasha figured he had the perfect opportunity to sneak a few without his master knowing. He may yet suspect Sasha was up to no good, but he would have no proof of it.

Twirling his cigarette, Sasha blew out the poof of smoke that he had been holding in. It was a pleasant feeling, something he occasionally missed. He supposed he could have stopped altogether and he knew he probably should. Sasha understood that smoking was bad for health. He knew it caused cancer and lung diseases and all sorts of horrible things. He knew all that, but frankly, he hadn't thought he'd ever live long enough to contract them.

Even now with Voldemort he wasn't so sure he would. Maybe he wouldn't. Though he did seem to have better chances of it with his master than without him. After reasoning it out, Sasha decided if he was destined to die young, he might as well do what he wanted while he was alive. Now, with his future appearing to last a little longer, he knew he would eventually have to reconsider his actions.

Like he said, smoking was rare for him now. He barely had a packet over a whole year. Sasha wasn't a doctor, but he was sure that little wouldn't kill him. Not quickly anyway. And he supposed there probably would be a time when he grew bored of it and just wouldn't bother anymore.

He never seemed to go off of them and crave to go back on. It was more the ritual of finding some peace and quiet and giving himself some time to think without interruption. Living in Voldemort's mansion, Sasha found he had those moments every so often anyway.

Hogwarts was harder to manage. People seemed to be everywhere all the time. Sasha couldn't manage to get away from them for the most part. If he went to the great hall, Neville would follow him, the library would mean Hermione and the sports pitches had Ron trailing his heels. And that was just his friends. Everyone else seemed to be everywhere else the rest of the time. Even the bedrooms weren't private. Sasha didn't know how people managed it for so seven long years.

It was nice by the lake though, quiet. Not many people ventured near the water; they all knew of the creatures that lived underneath the surface. It was a daunting thought. Sasha probably wouldn't dare enter either, but he didn't think there would be a problem merely sitting beside the lake. Even the squid creature didn't bother too much with passing creatures. And Sasha would sense any incoming beings anyway. Besides, having a few moments to himself was worth the risk.

Sasha blew out another puff of smoke and thought about what he was going to do about Draco Malfoy and the problem of his actions. It wasn't something that would be particularly difficult to deal with; even the simplest confrontation with him would have Draco grovelling and begging to be forgiven. Yes, the problem could be handled well enough.

Sasha knew he would have to do it soon though, every time Draco did something stupid it made the situation just that little bit worse. He decided that he would need to do it tonight.

Sasha stared out over the water.

A light breeze had started blowing, changing the waters into choppiness. The trees whistled with the winds blowing through their leaves. With his problem solved, Sasha closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He listened to the sound of nature around him and felt glad that no one was around. It was easier when he was alone; people were hard to deal with and when he was around them Sasha had to watch himself and act the way he needed to.

He had roles to play and it wouldn't do for any of his guises to slip—even for the barest of moments.

Taking a final drag from his cigarette, Sasha used the last of it and stubbed it into a rock to his right. Having put out the fire, he popped the butt back into the exhausted cigarette box and put that back into his pocket.

Suddenly, Sasha felt the presence of another person and turned to the sound of shuffling feet breaking branches on the forest floor.

He got to his feet and faced the intruder.

She was a student, but Sasha didn't recognise her. He might have met her before but he wasn't sure. She had long, dirty blond hair with pale grey eyes. Her uniform was perfectly normal but her style in jewellery and footwear wasn't. A butterbeer cork was hanging from a chain around her neck. Her feet were bare and her ten toes were digging into the soil.

"Hello." The girl said with a dreamy smile and a voice with a similar quality.

"Hello." Sasha replied cautiously, glancing around with a frown.

He was getting an odd vibe from this girl. She didn't seem to be all there, but at the same time Sasha was keenly aware that Dumbledore was like that sometimes as well.

"My name's Luna," She said, "Luna Lovegood."

Sasha looked at her for a moment before remembering his persona and that he was supposed to be befriending people.

"I'm Sasha Kam—"

"—Kamenev." Luna interrupted with a smile, "Yes, I know. Everyone knows. You're Sasha Kamenev, the tall, dark, mysterious and handsome new student. Everyone knows you. Most the girls in Ravenclaw never stop looking at you. Most of the girls in the whole school do really."

She gave a funny little laugh and smiled at Sasha again.

Sasha didn't smile back.

He didn't quite know why this girl was talking to him or what it was about; she didn't seem to have any sort of agenda that he could see. She was just...talking to him. But she must have seen him moving across the lawns and followed him. The question was why?

Following him here without an agenda was illogical. Speaking to him without any reason was pointless. Why was she doing this?

"Tell me, have you ever heard of a Nargle?"

Sasha blinked. "Um, no." He said.

"Well, they live in mistletoe and steal things. That's why I wear this." She held up her cork necklace, "It's a charm to keep the Nargles away."

Sasha had never heard of any of this. Was it even true or was this girl as strange as she portrayed? "Oh," He said eventually, "Well, I guess we're lucky it's a bit early for mistletoe."

"Hmm, I suppose." Luna agreed airily, "But I like to wear the charm just in case."

Nodding, Sasha wondered why she was telling him that. "I see." He said.

"Do you know what else I carry around with me?" She asked.

Sasha was sure that he didn't. He shook his head.

"This." Luna had a small bag slung over her shoulder. She reached into it and pulled out something that Sasha had never seen before. "It's a device that detects creatures. I use it when I go on trips with my father to find Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. It turns red if there's a creature around."

Sasha studied the device. It looked uncannily like a compass, only the arrow didn't move and there were no directions written on its surface. It was glowing red though. Red meant there was a creature around.

They were the only two there.

Sasha now realised why Luna had followed him. Heart stopping for a moment, Sasha slowly looked up at Luna's face. She was staring dreamily off to the side. When he looked at her she turned to face him.

"I won't tell anyone." She promised. "I just thought it would be rude to know you are a creature and not tell you."

Despite not understanding her logic, Sasha nodded dumbly. There were a thousand scared thoughts running through his head. He envisioned all the scenarios that could be played out if Luna did not keep her word of staying quiet.

"Thank you." Sasha said because he hoped it would encourage her to really not tell anyone.

Luna Lovegood worried him; he didn't understand her, he didn't know her. He couldn't say if she would keep her word or not. He had no answers to any of his questions. Because of that, he couldn't even begin to tackle them.

Instead, he said, "Where did you get that device?"

He wondered how many there were and if there were any in Hogwarts. Sasha got a sudden flash of what could happen if Dumbledore found out he wasn't human. It created such a lump in his throat that Sasha had to stop thinking about it just so he could breathe again.

"Oh, my mother made this, it was just a prototype. She was quite a brilliant witch, you know. She loved experimenting." Luna said, looking down at the device before shrugging and returning it to her bag.

Sasha caught the word 'was' in that sentence and suspected her mother was no longer alive. He didn't ask about it though; it wasn't any of his business. "Oh," He said. "Does it say anything about what the creature is?"

It was said at the risk of sounding suspicious, but Sasha was curious.

Luna shook her head, "No, I'm afraid not. It only says if there's one around. I just wanted to let you know because the Ministry of Magic is conspiring with the vampires to bring down all other human-like creatures and make them work for no money. Everyone knows they have devices like this one in the ministry just so they know when a creature arrives. You should be careful if you plan on going there."

Sasha blinked. He was almost absolutely sure nothing she said just there was true. Was this girl as ditsy as she looked? It was becoming more probable the more he heard from her. "Okay." Sasha said slowly. "Well, thanks."

If she spoke, Sasha would have to take action. She could endanger his whole mission. Voldemort would not accept failure and Sasha didn't particularly want to end up in Dumbledore's hands. If he needed to deal with Luna Lovegood, Sasha would.

Luna smiled. "That's fine." She told him, "I'd better go; I want to get back to the article I was reading in the Quibbler about You-Know-Who's association with Fire Crabs. It's really quite informative."

With that, Luna seemed to wander off back to where she came from. Sasha stared as she left. He was on the verge of laughing and despairing. On the one hand, the idea that Voldemort would associate himself _in any way_ with Fire Crabs was truly hilarious, on the other hand, one of Sasha's biggest secrets was known by this person.

Somehow he really didn't think Luna would tell anyone of his status but he didn't live this long by taking people's word.

The wind blew harder then and Sasha felt it come from behind and hit his back. Chills went up his spine from a breeze that shouldn't have been cold enough to cause it. He felt power in the winds and, as if someone was there, he felt a presence.

Sasha turned, expecting to find someone standing behind him, but there was no one there. Frowning, Sasha looked around. He could have sworn he felt someone's breath on his neck. He brought a hand up and rubbed his neck self-consciously, taking another moment to look around.

He could have sworn he heard something. Like a voiceless whisper, hiding in the wind. Sasha tried to tell himself he couldn't have possibly heard his name being called but somehow he found himself convinced that he had.

Once he was satisfied that nobody else was there and he truly was on his own, Sasha shook his head and returned to Hogwarts.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

They were sitting in the great hall for dinner.

"You mean Looney Lovegood?" Hermione asked, her voice set high with disbelief. "_She_ was talking to you?"

Sasha had told Hermione about his encounter with Luna. He left out the fact that the girl had ousted him as a creature but he did ask what she was like. Hermione had taken offence to Luna's approach and had launched into her high-pitched disbelief that the girl would have the nerve to make contact with him. After all, not only was she a year younger and in a different house, they just weren't on the same level. Luna was weird, Sasha was not. Or at least that's what Hermione said.

Sahsa had never seen Hermione Granger act so negatively to anyone; even Malfoy was somehow given a little restraint. But it was clear as day that she didn't like Luna in the slightest bit. Hermione went on to describe the Lovegood's appreciation of all things fake and illogical. They read the Quibbler, they went on wild goose chases across the world, they believed in all sorts of things that didn't exist. They acted strange.

"She's a looper, that one." Ron joined in, nodding his head sagely.

Sasha glanced over to Ron, nodded and then looked back to Hermione.

"So people don't put much faith in what she says?" Sasha asked.

Hermione quickly shook her head, "No one in Hogwarts would be stupid enough to believe a word that comes out of her mouth. Honestly, I don't know how that girl was sorted into Ravenclaw."

Sasha nodded, but it wasn't in agreement. It was because he was pleased with himself. No one gave Luna any credibility. That was a little bit sad, but it meant she probably could shout out that he was a creature and no one would believe her. From what Sasha gathered, it wouldn't be the first time something like that happened either.

He decided that he would keep an eye on Luna, just in case, but really he didn't feel that worried about her.

With that problem out of the way, Sasha could concentrate on how he was going to approach Draco. He glanced at the Slytherin across the great hall, messing and chatting with his friends. The boy had no idea what was in for him later that night.

It was probably just as well. Ignorance, after all, was bliss.


	7. Chapter 06

_Okay guys, as usual, thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I'm thrilled that people are enjoying this story so far and the support has been just fantastic! Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em>C<span>hapter 06<span>_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

His footsteps were almost silent as he tread through the corridors of Hogwarts, hidden in the natural shadows of the night. He had cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on himself so that none of the bothersome portraits would give away his position and alert anyone as to what he was up to.

It was late at night, but it was possible that some students were still awake in their common rooms, enjoying the last of the blazing fires or the gossip from their friends. Or whatever. Sasha didn't exactly know what students did after they were locked up for the night as he tended to go to bed early so that he could be spared from any further socialising.

Not that he didn't appreciate all the talk about 'The Weird Sisters', a band that Sasha had never heard of but was constantly assured they were the best thing since sliced bread. No, Sasha just preferred his bed to that kind of conversation.

He was frankly glad to be out and about.

Sasha sensed an oncoming presence and froze. He stepped back into the shadows and hid himself expertly. Not that anyone would know he was there anyway, what with his Notice-Me-Not charm.

Two ghosts appeared, floating down the corridor leisurely.

"It's not that I _hate_ children," One said to the other, "It's just that I think they could be a little less..."

The voice faded away as they turned and disappeared through one of the many stone walls. Sasha waited another moment before moving off and continuing his journey towards the Slytherin dungeons.

He had studied maps of Hogwarts time and time again. He knew numerous nooks and crannies of the many halls and corridors. Anything that had been given to him to study, he had learned off by heart. That didn't mean he knew all of secrets of Hogwarts, of course, but he knew all the known ones.

Sasha arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. He cleared his throat and spoke the password clearly. The way was opened for him. Sasha grinned as he stepped through the entrance and continued his journey.

He had gleaned the password off some random Slytherin's mind earlier that day. The boy had no idea anything had happened and he went on with his life. Sasha had found that children his age rarely had any sorts of mind barriers. Taking the password directly from the boy's head was the simplest way to get access to the Slytherin territories. Mind magic was an indisputably useful tool.

One of the undeniable benefits of living with Voldemort was the man's unquestionable skill with both Occlumency and Legilimency. Admittedly, it had not always been a benefit; on more than one occasion Voldemort had ripped through his mind to discover some piece of information that, for one reason or another, Sasha had chosen to keep secret.

Sasha had realised his vulnerability to the man's mind magic and had sought to remedy it. It had been mutually beneficial, of course; Voldemort would not have his servant taken unawares by a Legilimins and Sasha didn't want to be taken unawares by Voldemort.

He had learned the art and had taken to it quite well. It came naturally to him. Within a few weeks of being taught, his skills became almost as good as Voldemort's own. Few things came to him quite as quickly as Occlumency. He had built up strong walls around his mind. He had taken Voldemort's teachings and had customised them.

It was his magic. That was why he could create an impenetrable force around his mind. Spirals, not swirls. His magic didn't move like other magic. It spiralled. Any normal Legilimens would not know how to even begin fighting off and breaking down the wards around his mind. Voldemort had developed a technique, but even that had taken time and a fair bit of ingenuity.

Because of his fluency as an Occlumens, Voldemort had been somewhat hesitant to teach him Legilimency, in fear that Sasha might someday use it against him. Sasha understood that fear and knew it was most unlikely but Voldemort would not teach him regardless.

So he taught himself.

The idea was pretty much the same anyway and once he mastered Occlumency, he had already gotten the basis for Legilimency. He had learned quickly and thoroughly. Voldemort didn't know until he had already become proficient at it. By then it was too late anyway.

But, as with his Occlumency, Voldemort had devised ways around his latest skill. Sasha would not stop him entering his mind anyway, if he asked. It was only when he tried to do forcefully that Sasha became obstreperous and put up his defences. When he really put his heart and soul into it, even Voldemort figured it wasn't worth the hassle of trying to break into his mind.

And even Voldemort was impressed when he used his Legilimency—on anyone who wasn't him—obviously Voldemort wouldn't appreciate himself being targeted. Sasha had gone into the minds of master Occlumens and had taken vital information from their depths. Even fighting to their fullest, they could not erect walls against his strange magic.

If they did fight, Sasha always managed to plough through. But 'plough' being the operative word. If there was any resistance, Sasha could not control himself. It was all or nothing. He could enter a person's mind stealthily provided they did not have any sort of defences. Otherwise, his method was messy and painful and left the person more than just mentally scarred. More than one person had become a drooling mess after Sasha was finished with them.

And that was how Sasha became Voldemort's interrogator. A messy job that thankfully was not asked of him very often. Voldemort usually enjoyed doing that particular job personally. It was only when he was too busy that Sasha stepped in.

But that was a whole other story and Sasha did _not_ have time for it at that exact moment.

Sasha travelled through the dungeons easily, his memory telling him where the dorms were situated. The dungeons were colder than the Gryffindor tower, less comfortable and friendly, more austere and distant. Draco must have felt right at home there; it had an uncanny resemblance to the lifeless grandeur of the Malfoy mansion.

Sasha stepped silently into the dorm room of Draco Malfoy. He treaded over to the bed. The platinum blond appeared horribly vulnerable asleep under his covers. More than ever, the boy looked like a child, reminding Sasha once more how far Draco would have to travel to become anything like his father. Somehow, Sasha imagined Lucius even slept in a composed manner that would do the Malfoy name proud.

Well, time to get to work.

Casting a silent Notice-Me-Not charm and a _silencio,_ Sasha loomed over the vulnerable sleeping body, wondering how best to deal with the situation. It didn't take long for him to choose. He made his move.

Sasha reached across and slapped the Malfoy heir across the face—hard. Draco woke up thrashing in shock, eyes widened and terrified and his hair sticking up at all angles. Sasha's hand shot out as he grabbed Malfoy's neck, slamming him up against the headboard. He sneered down at the other boy, looking every bit as threatening as he was known to be.

"S-Sasha!" Draco cried out in shock, his eyes like saucers, darting around for someone to notice his plight and come to his rescue. It was useless, however, as he soon found out; all of his dorm mates were fast asleep, not in the least bit disturbed by the intruder to the Slytherin dungeons.

Sasha's response was immediate. He snarled and tightened his grip, knocking Draco's head into the headboard again. "Do _not_ forget your place, Malfoy." He spoke as if disgusted by Draco's very presence, as if the Malfoy heir was not a pureblooded wizard, as if somehow he had lost his standing in society. Preposterous as it was, Draco almost believed it for a split second.

"Forgive me," Draco apologized meekly, his heart hammering in his chest, "My Lord."

He had been barely able to deduce what Sasha wanted from him. His sleep addled mind had eventually supplied the answer to him, only managing to think of the response due to years of training in pureblood etiquette. Surely Sasha wouldn't kill him for the slight, would he? He couldn't kill him here, could he? Draco was safe in Hogwarts; he had to be.

Sasha studied him coldly before slowly loosening his grip and letting go. He eventually deemed Malfoy's response to be satisfactory—though Draco obviously wasn't going to be praised for the delay. Sasha straightened up, looking down his nose at Draco. His voice was dispassionate when he spoke next, "We have something we need to discuss."

Draco, having been given a little time and space to recover, nodded calculatedly, trying to collect his fallen dignity. It was hardly perfect; the boy was cornered in his pajamas, after all, but he was doing an admirable job Sasha had to admit. However, now was not the time for compliments. Now was the time to put Draco in his place before it all got out of hand.

Sasha knew that he had to deal with Draco as he would deal with any kid, by annihilating any ridiculous notions that he might have. On the streets it had been total humiliation, a beating and an order to run away and never come back. Sasha, admittedly, knew he could not do this here. Instead, he would destroy the boy's defense. Sasha would swipe the legs out from under him. For such a privileged child; it would have the same cowing effect as physical pain.

"You've been paying too much attention to me." Sasha told him darkly. "Your actions are too obvious. You're practically singing conspiracies."

Draco, whose defensive walls were up around him again, had the gall to look disgruntled. "I've been following _orders_. I was _told_ to act as if you were nothing but a filthy mudblood." He sneered.

Lucius, like all Death Eaters who knew his identity, believed Sasha was a muggle-born. He would have told Draco this; potentially in an attempt to show Draco that he couldn't amount to someone who wasn't even a pureblood. Sasha didn't know for sure, but he did know that Draco had that information.

The boy was being smart enough though, using the guise of his mission to indirectly show Sasha that was nothing but common filth while still being able to hold onto the excuse that he didn't mean anything by it. But Sasha wasn't going to back down; he wasn't going to play dumb. He wasn't going to let himself be above retaliation. Draco was going to know that Sasha didn't appreciate his insolence.

Sasha's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yes," He agreed with a worrying eagerness, "And you have been _delighting_ in it, haven't you?"

Draco froze at the tone of Sasha's voice. Sasha knew he would. Silky and dark and all too ready to kill. It made Draco turn into a frightened little rabbit right in front of Sasha's eyes. Gone was that arrogance that followed the Malfoy's like stale air. Draco was just a terrified kid. Any attempt to insult Sasha was now completely forgotten as he remembered exactly _who_ Sasha was.

Sasha was almost sure that Draco had never seen him in action. The boy wasn't even technically initiated into the ranks yet. Despite this, Sasha knew Lucius would have mentioned him more than once—even if it _was_ against the rules.

Lucius would rave about him, Sasha imagined. Probably exaggerate a detail or two to make a better story and a higher mark for Draco to hit. Even still, exaggeration or not, Sasha was a fighter. Magic was relatively new territory to him but he understood the workings of a battle. And Sasha didn't fight politely.

It wasn't in his nature to. He was fierce, feral, frenzied almost, in a fight. He had been shaped by his experiences; the desperate need for survival, the fury of having to fend for himself, the calculating personality that allowed for victory. Even if he had been nothing else—not a wizard or Voldemort's right hand— Sasha knew he would still be fascinating to certain people.

And Lucius Malfoy enjoyed things that fascinated him. Having wealth and power, he surrounded himself with the objects of his interest. Like a true collector, Lucius could obsess about anything that caught his attention with an impressively focused single-mindedness. Sasha didn't know how or why, but he was one such thing. With him, though, Lucius could not have his way; Voldemort would never give Sasha up and so, he was left to stew in his obsession.

So yes, Draco had probably heard the horror stories of Sasha Kamenev in all of their terrible beauty. It was those stories that now rendered Draco speechless in front of the intimidating figure.

"Regardless," Sasha continued off-handedly, "You have been paying a great deal too much attention to me. It is beginning to get suspicious."

A terrified flutter of his heart had Draco squeak out, "My orders—"

"Your _orders_," Sasha interrupted sternly, "Were to treat me like any other mudblood. Do you spend so much time trying to intimidate Hermione Granger?"

At the thought of her, Draco's lip rose in distaste, "Granger isn't worth my time." He spat.

"And I shouldn't be either." Sasha replied, finally getting to his point.

Draco was quiet. "I didn't re—"

"_Of course_ you didn't realise" Sasha agreed, cutting him off before he could say anything stupid, "But now you do. The question is; what are you going to do with that realisation?"

It wasn't a rhetorical question. Draco knew that but he was slow to answer, hoping the other boy wouldn't make him stoop so low. He was a Malfoy, not some mudblood. He had too much pride to be treated like a child by Sasha Kamenev. He would not lower himself to the other's expectations of him.

But, Sasha wasn't like him—or even a lot of other people. Draco's father had told him the stories of the boy since the moment he arrived in Voldemort's mansion. Draco had listened as Lucius described Sasha as more of an animal than anything else to begin with. He spoke at length about how the boy had been a wild creature upon his capture and how, despite his training and studiousness, that wildness was always just beneath the surface.

Draco understood that this was more than just about his overacting; this was about Sasha's status over him as Voldemort's servant. Like a wolf in a pack showing his teeth. Even still, Draco didn't want to be at the other end of those teeth.

It was the first time in his life that Draco was so clearly subordinate to someone his own age—and of a lesser blood status than him. He didn't like it—not one bit. But then, Sasha was Voldemort's right hand, what could Draco do but bow his head and do what was demanded of him.

"I'll treat you like I treat Granger." He said dejectedly.

Sasha nodded, crossing his arms, looking dominant from his standing position. "Good boy." He said condescendingly.

Draco would never be a leader, Sasha concluded. He neither had the guts to defend his position nor the strength of character to admit he was wrong. The boy had only done what was absolutely required of him so that he could stay out of trouble.

That wasn't necessarily a bad trait to have, but it would not make him a leader. Lucius would be a very disappointed old man if he expected his son to turn into the unobtainable ideal that he had so often admitted to having.

"Do not forget what I have said, Draco; I, like the Dark Lord, do not take kindly to failure."

Sasha got rid of the privacy spells he had conjured and gave Draco one last, long look that was full of warning. He then turned on his heel and melted back into the darkness of the room, exiting from the boy's dormitories.

He doubted Draco would sleep for a long time that night. Even though the encounter had been relatively mild to some of the scenarios Sasha had concocted in his head, it was more than enough to have Malfoy quaking. Draco would think about this; about his actions, about his responses and how he could have done it better. He would think about how unMalfoy like he had or hadn't been and eventually, he would think about the ease at which Sasha had snuck into his dorms.

If nothing else, Draco would realise at the end of the night that Sasha would be able to reach him at any time. He would be able to break into the dorms and murder him in his bed if he so wanted. If nothing else, Draco would realise that he was just as vulnerable in Hogwarts as he would be in Voldemort's mansion.

That was exactly the way Sasha wanted it. If he got even just that, he knew this night had been a success.

Sasha moved back the way he came, through the Slytherin dungeons and into the main Hogwarts corridors. He didn't know where to start his physical search through Hogwarts. Sasha knew there was a secret room somewhere within the walls of the castle called the Room of Requirement and one of his ultimate goals was to find this—if for nothing more than his own amusement.

However, that was for another night.

Tonight he was going to do research. He headed for the restricted section of the library.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Unsurprisingly, there had been a whole manner of interesting books in the restricted section of the library. Three months later, however, Sasha was surprised to find that there was nothing of any value to him. Three months of searching and he had found nothing to do with his master's treasured item.

Of course, it didn't help that Voldemort hadn't deemed it important to tell him exactly _what_ he was looking for. Instead the Dark Lord had decided to opt for the 'turn it upside down and see what shakes out' route that was oh-so-amusing. Admittedly Sasha hadn't been searching as thoroughly, perhaps, as he should have been; the lessons in Hogwarts weren't completely awful and his own extra-curricular reading had been enjoyable. Not forgetting that he had almost gotten used to his new friends and their ways by now also.

If Voldemort had wanted a speedy result, he could have given Sasha some information of what he was looking for. Instead, Sasha was given a cryptic smile and told to "consider it a challenge," and besides; he would "know it when he saw it".

Sasha hadn't liked that. But then, Sasha hadn't liked anything to do with the mission so he supposed Voldemort's stubbornness changed nothing.

Even still, Sasha knew the Dark Lord's patience would not last forever and it was only a matter of time before the man started questioning his capabilities. That was something Sasha would not stand for. He had spent a great deal of time trying to prove himself to his master; there was nothing worth losing that respect. That was the reason why he decided to move on from the books and have a look somewhere not altogether conventional.

The Forbidden Forest was a dark and dangerous place that was strictly prohibited for the students to enter. Ron said that Dumbledore says the same thing every year; "And might I remind you all, the Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds". He continued to make a point of it every year. No first year would be stupid enough to go near the edge anyway and the others _knew_ it was a bad idea. So why bother?

Surely that meant something was in there that didn't want to be found? He just hoped it was Voldemort's item. Either it was and his mission would be over, or it wasn't and Sasha, although having to go back to the drawing board, would be able to scratch another area off of his list.

That was why Sasha was stalking through the thick grass of the Hogwarts grounds.

There was energy in the air that night; something that Sasha knew was common for cold winter nights like these. It made him pause and take a deep breath to steady the sense of excitement he felt bubbling up within him. There was something about the night that triggered a very primal response to 'act'. He wasn't sure what he was meant to act upon, but the desire was present and stronger every night.

He didn't sleep well with that feeling constantly nagging at him.

He began walking again and slipped easily past the groundskeeper's hut with a quick glance to the window backlit with the rich orange light from Hagrid's candles. There seemed to be no movement in the small hut and Sasha figured the half-giant had probably fallen asleep with the light on. It was well into the night after all.

He breached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and was engulfed in the smothering darkness that was so common in places of intensely dark magic. This did not bother Sasha. He was well used to being surrounded by dark things. However, his hand slowly moved to reach into his pocket. He gripped his wand within the material. Just in case.

Sasha sent his awareness out into the area, trying to judge if there was anything in the vicinity. From what he could gather, there was nothing too dangerous near. Or at least nothing that was too interested in him. He was fairly sure there was nothing that could cause him any harm, but he would be careful, just in case he missed something.

In his usual circumstances, Sasha would have the back up of Voldemort or the Death Eaters to cover him if he missed anything. Now, however, he was alone and he wasn't going to leave himself vulnerable to anything.

Hopping over a fallen log, Sasha ventured even further into the forest, walking for a great deal of time with nothing bothering him. In fact, Sasha would almost go as far as to say that there was a certain amount of avoidance from him. Which, admittedly, suited him fine. He didn't particularly wish to meet anything else either.

Sasha wasn't afraid to admit that he had his own agenda in coming to the Forbidden Forest tonight; he wanted to see if he could find out anything about what he was.

There was a potion that he had discovered in a book in the restricted section of the library which he had found on one of his many jaunts there over the last three months. The potion itself was highly uncommon and not exactly 'done' in civilised society. It was originally used way back in the past when there were still a great many magical creatures that had yet to be discovered. It allowed a detailed description of what something was. It identified unknown life forms. Sasha hoped to use the potion on himself.

They stopped using the potion because it was considered cruelty once they realised that many magical creatures were sentient. It was said to be an unimaginable torture to the recipient of the elixir, but its results were of the utmost help. The potion would reveal to him what he was. Pain would be worth the knowledge of his species. Before the pain, however, came the hassle. He had to gather all of the ingredients and most of them couldn't be found in Snape's potion's room.

Unfortunate, but such was life.

Luckily, the Forbidden Forest had a great many of these things and tonight he would find them. He carried a bag with him, a rucksack that matched the muggle clothing he had chosen to wear for the excursion. Even after four years with Voldemort, he had to admit he had weakness for returning to his old dress style once it a while. It drove his master mad, but since he only did it when he was going out to the muggle world, Voldemort couldn't really complain too much.

The clothes were easier to move in than robes; they were more adept at running away from things or climbing or dodging or physical fighting. Robes were only really suited to magical duelling. In a place such as the Forbidden Forest, Sasha was not going to limit himself to one style of attack. Not all magic worked against all creatures and he had a knife hidden on his person just in case.

So he, a muggle clothed kid, travelled through the Dark Forest without so much as a cricket to disturb him from his path.

After some time spent travelling deeper into the forest, Sasha stumbled upon a small spring.

Its crystal water sparkled under the light of the moon and he found himself stopping. There was a strange kind of lonely beauty in the scene that drew him towards it. Like a siren's voice, he felt the pull of the pool. It told him to come closer, the drink from it or to dip his feet inside at least. The waters would be cool, but they promised to soothe his weariness.

Despite the urge, he didn't approach it though; who knew what was lurking in the water? It was dangerous to get too close. And yet, this was what he was here for, wasn't it? Pure spring water in a place of great darkness. This was what he needed; it was one of the basic ingredients for his potion. He took out a small vial from his bag. He only needed a little bit, barely any more than a few drops.

Sasha took out his wand and pointed it at the water as he approached slowly. One foot in front of the other, he inched forward tensely until he was at the edge of the spring. His muscles were strung tight as he crouched down and took a quick sample of the water. He wedged a cork into the opening and quickly returned it to his bag.

As he began to retreat, the water rippled ominously, first slow and softly and then picking up speed before it exploded and a gush of water shot into the air. Before him, a giant, tentacled creature reared its ugly, dripping head. It had rows of teeth and huge yellowish eyes that looked furiously towards Sasha. Its appendages lashed out at him. Sasha hissed and jumped backwards, dodging one tentacle and knocking another away with his arm.

The creature growled and lunged for him again. Sasha sneered and cast the first spell that came to mind.

"_Incendio_!" He yelled, aiming the curse right between the ugly thing's eyes.

The tentacles retreated and the thing screamed a strangely human scream. It thrashed helplessly to rid itself of the torturous pain. It was a pointless endeavour however, as Sasha coolly watched its torment.

When he felt he had done enough damage, he released the creature from the curse. Giving an exhausted cry, it collapsed and slowly slinked away back into the water. Satisfied, Sasha grabbed his bag and hurried away from the scene. It was best for everyone that he didn't hang around; Sasha wasn't particularly interested in a round two. Not to mention the sounds could have drawn other creatures to the area. Best he continue onwards.

He journeyed deeper into the Forbidden Forest, wiping the disgusting tentacle mucous from his sleeve. He sneered at the thought of the ugly creature, disgusted at himself for the beating heart ramming against the confines of his chest wall. That creature had surprised him, scared the life out of him actually. More than it should have really.

Sasha had felt the ominous vibe coming from the water. He had sensed that there was something near and he should have expected such a bounty to not be left unguarded. Surprise should not have come into it at all. It was disappointing that it did.

Shaking his head, Sasha decided to let it go.

He could learn from the experience and move on. It was important he remind himself to tread carefully throughout this whole mission. Failure was not an option. That was it; his mantra. Failure was not an option.

It was then he heard the hoof beats.

The ground rumbled with the vibrations of hooves hitting against it. Sasha stopped moving and stood awaiting their arrival. There was no point in attempting to flee. They knew he was there. Running would just anger them. It was best to stay put. He would deal with it somehow. He would find a way out.

Sasha had suspected he would stumble upon some of the forest's inhabitants. It was bound to happen. The Forbidden Forest was not the friendliest of places and the creatures living there were plentiful. Odds were that something was going to go for him. Between acromantulas, hippogriffs, thestrals, blood-sucking bugbears, bowtruckles, blast-ended skrewts and who knew what else, there were plenty of things to fall over.

Centaurs were not what he thought he was going to discover, but they certainly weren't the worst things he could come across. Of course, Sasha was acutely aware that centaurs disliked bipeds and even more so they hated trespassers. He knew he would have to tread lightly, since he was clearly both.

As the sound got louder and vibrations ran up through his feet into his legs, Sasha turned towards the sound. A relatively small herd of seven adult centaurs appeared through the trees and surrounded him on all sides. They were small in numbers, but they were still mighty and Sasha knew that he would have trouble fighting off one enraged centaur—he would not survive seven.

"Human!" The leader roared as he approached swiftly. He skidded to a halt, correcting his error with narrowed eyes and slow words. "No. Not human... We don't deal with your kind. Leave. Leave our lands. Leave now."

_Ba-thump_

Sasha's heart gave a weird beat as he heard the words from the centaur's mouth. Not human. His kind. These were words that Sasha understood but had no meaning for. This centaur knew. He _knew. _He knew something, at least.

Sasha, despite any plans he might have had before, hesitated. "You know what I am?" He asked, whispering the question as if a softer tone might reap a softer answer.

The centaur, surprised by the question, stared at him. Sasha could see the creature's eyes flicker from his face to the rest of him, as if there was some answer there to an unspoken question. He eventually replied in a slightly quizzical tone, "No. Nor do I have any wish to. There is only one thing I wish and that is for you to be gone from our lands. Leave. We will not attack kind. Leave now and leave us in peace."

"You don't know, but you've met one before? Someone like me?" Sasha asked slowly, both eager and fearful for the answers he might receive. He once again ignored the centaur's order to leave.

It was a silly move to make; angering a centaur on their own territory, but Sasha couldn't leave. Not with his own identity so close to being found. This centaur had answers. Nothing else mattered. He stood his ground and silently refused to be moved until he was satisfied.

The centaur looked angry. His neck was red and the lines of his face were sharp and hostile. Yet there was fear there also, hidden behind the mask of what a leader should and shouldn't feel. Leaders should be brave in the face of danger. They should never let it get to them, never let it show.

But Sasha saw clearly that he was cautious around him.

The centaur never moved from his spot. Never took a step forward but always looked poised to take one back. He hadn't attacked Sasha, hadn't even ordered the others do it. For a species that hated trespassers, they were showing a great deal of restraint. Centaurs weren't cowards, they were warriors. So why fear him? Even a powerful wizard could not stand up to a herd of centaurs that were ready for battle.

Interesting.

What had happened before? What was the creature who could cause the mighty centaurs to think twice upon seeing one of their species?

"Yes. I have met one." The centaur ground out, "I have no desire to do so again."

Sasha licked his lips. He wanted to further question this centaur. He was intrigued. Everyone knew that centaurs were strong, proud creatures. They did not like to admit their fear of anything. What could scare a centaur into such a confession? Sasha wanted to know, but he needed other answers first. This could wait—and unfortunately would.

"There is a purpose for my intrusion on your lands. There are things—ingredients—that I must have. I cannot leave until they are in my possession. I will not leave until I have them."

A beat of silence.

"What do you want?" The centaur leader grumbled.

Hiding his pleasure, Sasha told him, "Deadlyius spores, hellebore root, Ptolemy—only four drops, erumpent tail, dittany shoots, sulphur vive, agrippa, snakeweed and moly petals."

"If we get you these things, will you leave here and not return?" The centaur leader asked grudgingly.

Sasha shrugged, "I will have no need to be here once I have them."

"Then my men will bring them." He motioned to two centaurs and they turned and galloped off into the dense wood. The leader regarded Sasha critically, looking him up and down. "An unusual set of ingredients." He commented.

"An unusual potion." Sasha replied.

The centaur 'hummed', "That isn't all of the ingredients." He said.

"No." Sasha agreed.

The centaur leader considered Sasha's item list with great concentration. "There is only one potion I know of that has such ingredients," He said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "You are trying to make the _Expiscor Intentus_. That is a dark potion. Older than even I and not one I am eager to see again."

"I'm not planning on using it on you."

"Of course not. What would be the use?" The centaur concurred, "But what are you using it on?"

Sasha wasn't sure if he should say. There was no reason to tell the centaur why he was making the _Expiscor Intentus_, yet equally there was no reason not to. These centaurs however, were helping him—albeit self-servingly. Even if they didn't exactly deserve to know, Sasha saw no harm in informing them. "Myself."

The centaurs flinched. There were mutterings between them. Immediate and numerous. The leader held up his hand and quietened his herd. "Yourself?" He asked in surprise, "You should know; the _Expiscor Intentus_ is the single most agonising potion I have ever encountered. It has been outlawed for good reason. Some have even died from the pain it can inflict. You are foolish to use it upon yourself."

"I know the risks." Sasha replied testily, scowling at the centaur for voicing the fears he himself initially had when considering the _Expiscor Intentus_. "And I have taken precautions against them."

"With the use of Dittany and Moly?" The centaur mused, "Yes, that is a clever addition, to be sure. Can you be certain it is enough though? I do not know if you understand the power of this potion as completely as you should. There is danger in ignorance. Particularly in this case."

"I understand it. The risks are worth the end result."

The centaur shrugged. "If that is your wish. I would not condone such an action if this was any of my business, but it is not and you alone will face the consequences of your actions."

Sasha nodded. "You're right; it's not any of your business. I _will _discover what I am and I am willing to use whatever means is necessary."

"Your ambition is admirable. Your pride however, is foolish."

Barking a laugh, Sasha retorted, "Says the centaur? A being known for pride?"

A defensive scowl flickered across the centaur's features. "Our pride does not leave us open to taking great risks for very little benefit. We can bend our necks if it spares our lives—or those of our young ones."

Sasha was ready to challenge that but realised it was pointless. He bit his tongue and gave a tense nod to the centaur. It was a curious thing that the centaur was helping hm. Sasha would not have expected it. The centaur himself was curious also. Sasha knew only as much about centaurs as a normal wizard would.

He knew they were private. They disliked two-legged beings. They were territorial. They lived in herds. They were quite good a divination and were often somewhat prophetic. Perhaps he could throw one or two more details in with that but it was the bulk of his knowledge.

From what he knew about centaurs though, they weren't usually this accommodating. Yet strangely, here was one telling him not to do something that could hurt him. Who had ever done that for him? Voldemort had made one or two gestures but they were ultimately self-serving. Even Hermione had defended him from Malfoy because she was affronted by the degrading name of 'mudblood'.

What did this centaur have to gain?

Nothing, as far as Sasha could see.

Sasha crossed his arms and looked away, waiting impatiently for the two centaurs to come back with his things.

His silence didn't last long.

"What happened the last time one of my kind came here?" Sasha asked.

"Trouble." He responded simply, "They are not natural."

All things were natural, in Sasha's experience, even if they didn't seem to be on the outside. Even a crow that pecked out the eyes of a lamb had chicks to feed somewhere. But the centaur did not believe that to be true—in this case anyway. And that was a puzzling statement...

"How so?"

The centaur shook his head and looked as if he was seriously considering not answer. He did though, "We centaurs have the ability to see things far beyond the human range. We see great things; the future blossoms before our eyes like spring flowers, we see what the fates have in store for us. We see destiny." The centaur raised his huge arm and pointed to the left. Sasha's eyes followed the path to a tree, unsure of what was so special. "The bird in that tree over there will soon take flight and move north. It will nest three times before becoming prey to a young werewolf on its first transformation. It is the bird's destiny to die, just as it is the person's fate to turn into a werewolf. This is the path their lives must take—there is no other way."

"You people, you don't follow those paths. We cannot see you; those paths do not exist for you. You ruin the future. Twist it. The last one of your kind to come through here was a female who caused the wreck of many a great centaur; she blinded us all for decades. Left us stranded in this world, only in the present. As vulnerable as mere foals in the wolf's den. It was a cruel fate that most could not handle. And chose not to continue.

"Over the years we learned to see. Like trying to teach a cripple how to walk again, our sights came back to us; we began to see once more, to know what the future would bring and where we would fit into it. But it was different than ever before, alien to us then. She changed fate so much that we did not even recognise it when it was in front of us once more.

"Lost, we were, in an endless sea of history and sight that we had no grounding in. It was overwhelming. It took a great many years for us to recover, to acclimatise ourselves with this... this alternate to what we know should have happened. We cannot take such an attack again."

"What was supposed to happen instead of 'the alternate'?" Sasha asked.

The centaur looked suddenly haggard, as if he was still mourning for it. "It does not matter," He said, "It has not and will never now come to pass."

For a moment, Sasha was quiet. "And you were completely lost?" He asked.

"Mostly. One or two of our oldest and most treasured prophecies still rang true. We used them in the rebuilding of our mental maps for how our sights should fit together. But they were only a handful. We were thankful that we were spared those few."

Though he would have liked to know what the centaur's surviving prophecies were, Sasha knew that was one thing he would definitely not be privy to. He accepted that, considering how strangely accommodating the centaurs were in all other regards.

Sasha found himself understanding the centaur's pain in a way he wouldn't have thought he could. It was strange, but he suddenly felt the gravity of what had happened to them. He felt anger and sorrow over something that should have meant nothing to him.

"What was done to you," He said slowly, "Was criminal. I get it. That woman—whoever she was—took more than just a skill you possessed. She took a piece of you, both individually and collectively. She made you less than centaur. I don't know why she did, but there's no excuse for it, no matter what her reasoning might have been. It's like, taking the fire from a phoenix or the water from a kelpie. I get it. It was wrong. It was..." He wanted to say 'unnatural' but he didn't, because deep down he knew all things were natural in some way, "It was wrong." He repeated instead.

Sasha shook his head, confused at himself for saying what he was. "It shouldn't have happened. I wouldn't do. I-I..." His voice wavered then and came as much a surprise to him as it did to the centaur, "I couldn't do it to you. And I wouldn't. I won't."

The centaur eyed Sasha with a strange look, "I know you speak the truth." He said, "Despite the blood in you. You _are_ a curious youngling, not like many humans, not even like that female we met. Most do not understand the centaurs and have no desire to either. You are hardly expert, but you stand apart from the masses—though I do not altogether know why. I have no ill feelings towards you, despite your foolish and reckless behaviour in coming here."

The centaur paused to rub his beard again. "I tell you," He said, "You will find no enemies in this herd. Not unless you go back on your word. I make this promise to you."

Sasha blinked. He had never heard of a centaur offering friendship to a human before. But then, Sasha was not human and this was not exactly a normal centaur. He would be a fool not to accept the gesture. Having centaurs on his side, or at least not on his opponent's side, would be an advantage he would gladly take.

"Thank you. The same will go for you." He told the centaur.

Nodding, the centaur stepped forward and extended a hand. "My name is Nessus as was my father's before me. I am this herd's leader. You have my support."

"Sasha Kamenev," He said, taking Nessus' giant hand and shaking it, "It's a pleasure."

The two centaurs that had been sent away returned soon after, presenting Sasha with the items he had requested. He took them with eager fingers and put them into his bag, his mind already whirling with the next steps of the process he would have to complete.

But wait, he almost forgot.

"Nessus?"

The giant centaur raised a brow.

"Is there anything hidden in the forest?"

"There are a great many things in this forest that do not wish to be found. It is full of secrets, things that are buried behind every rock and tree. If you are searching for something, it had better be more specific than that."

Sasha's lips rose slightly, "Did Dumbledore hide anything in this forest?" He rephrased his question.

"We do not deal with Dumbledore." Immediately came the cold, hard response.

"I never said you did. But word must travel through this forest. If the old man was meddling here you must know it, right?"

"No one has been foolish enough to enter our lands for a very long time. The half-giant Hagrid is the only one we have encountered for years. What you seek is not here."

Sasha nodded contemplatively, "I thought as much. Thank you for your help Nessus. Maybe we will meet again."

"Perhaps we will." Nessus agreed.

They soon parted ways.


	8. Chapter 07

_Hi guys, thanks as always to everyone who reviewed. Thanks for reading guys and enjoy!_

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><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 07_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

It was the week before classes ended for the Christmas holidays. Sasha had explained to his friends that he would be returning to his 'safe house' where he would be spending the holidays alone. In truth he was going to return to Voldemort's mansion for some well deserved peace and quiet. A familiar tawny owl had arrived with a letter about a month ago informing him of this.

Voldemort's letter had been coded and to anyone looking it would seem like an ordinary letter from a father to his son. It had the usual things such letters had; the compulsory 'how-are-you's and the 'everything-here-is-fine's that was commonplace in correspondences between families that had no real news. The letter had been short and by working on it for a few minutes Sasha had discovered the true meaning behind the words; return home for the Christmas break.

It was morning; Hermione, Ron and Neville were sitting with Sasha at the table. Ron was wolfing down his scrambled eggs, Hermione was reading a book and Neville was looking over a letter his grandmother had written him, half-frowning in concentration.

Neville and his mother lived with the Longbottom matriarch in the old family manor. Sixteen years ago, Voldemort had cursed Neville's father. The man had gone insane under the pain and was left a mushy pile of vegetation, rotting away in St. Mungos. After that, Alice Longbottom had moved into her mother-in-law's house, unable to cope with the loss of her husband with a young baby on her arm. Neville never really knew his father, he was already gone by the time the boy had any concrete memories.

He claimed to sometimes miss his father but Sasha didn't know how someone could miss something they never had. Sasha himself had never any parents, but he didn't _miss_ them. In his younger years, he had felt the occasional longing for them, but he didn't miss them.

But then, Neville had his mother and grandmother to tell him how great a wizard his father had been. Sasha had always just assumed his parents were some lowlife's that either weren't fit to look after a child or weren't bothered.

"Oh, hey!" Neville said as he looked up from his letter and towards Sasha, "Sasha, you know the way you said you'll be spending the Christmas alone?"

Sasha stilled, "Yes." He said cautiously, his body tense. He hoped against hope that he didn't know what the next question was going to be. Though he sensed that he did; Neville's leading questions were never too obscure.

"Well, I told Gran about you in my last letter, you know; that you were all alone and all and she said she'd love to have you over for the holidays."

_No, goddamn it!_

"Wow, that's great Neville," Sasha replied brightly, insincerely, "Are you sure, I mean, I don't know; I don't want to be a hassle to anyone..."

_Please, please, please go back on this..._

Naturally, Neville didn't go back on his word. Shaking his head he replied, "Not at all. Our house is more than big enough for you and we'll even be spending time with some of...the others."

Sasha noticed the pause and jumped at the chance to exploit it, "The others?" He asked as if he was oblivious as to whom they might be.

Hermione, who had looked up from her book, bit her lip.

"Yeah, like my family," Ron supplied through a mouth full of food, "And the rest of Neville's and the Order members like Remus and—"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

Sasha looked between them. He had to resist the urge to raise a brow. He always knew the Longbottoms were rebels and the Weasleys too. Hermione was so close to them that it made sense for her to be involved. Not to mention she was a muggle-born witch. He knew it, but he didn't think they would ever really let it slip.

His reasons for staying friends with them had been to use them as a cloak for his own activities. Sasha hadn't meant to spy on them, it certainly wasn't a part of his mission, but it was beginning to seem like he was headed that way. It couldn't hurt anyway.

Even though he would have liked to return home to Voldemort over the Christmas, Sasha knew he was needed elsewhere. Despite his own wishes, Sasha supposed he could delay his reunion with his master a few weeks.

It was time to step his acting up a gear.

He held up his hands. "Hey guys, it's alright. You don't have to tell me." He said in an utterly understanding voice that held just a little disappointment, "I understand that you wouldn't trust me or anything; I mean, you've only known me a few months. I get it. It's okay. I won't ask any questions or anything." He hoped he looked just pathetic enough for Hermione to melt.

It worked superbly, but not only with Hermione.

"We trust you." Neville said, putting a hand on Sasha's shoulder.

Hermione leaned closer. "You have to promise to not tell anyone about this, Sasha, but..." She paused, licking her lips as her eyes glanced around to see if anyone was listening, "We're members of the Order of the Phoenix."

Sasha blinked, "You mean..." He too, leaned into his 'friends', "The rebel group against... You-Know-Who?"

They nodded furiously.

"Oh," Sasha said with wide eyes, looking around momentarily, "That's kind of... awesome."

Hermione sighed in exasperation and Ron and Neville exchanged grins. "Tell me about it, mate." Ron said with wholehearted eagerness.

The air around them seemed to relax.

"Sorry we didn't tell you earlier," Hermione apologised, "We just weren't sure it was best to involve you in our problems."

Sasha shook his head and waved her off easily, "No harm done. But you know, you guys don't need to protect me so much; I'm your friend and I can deal with these things, what else are friends for?"

"You're right." Neville said enthusiastically.

They all shared happy smiles and began to chat about what they would be doing during the Christmas holidays and how great it would all be. Sasha watched them from behind his mask, agitated that they would give away such vital information so easily.

They didn't know Sasha—not really—and they shouldn't have trusted him with their homework let alone their loyalties in the war. Unwittingly they had damned their families and friends.

Sasha couldn't help but look at them with a mixture pity and resentment. He would destroy them. It wouldn't matter how he felt about it; it had to be done. But honestly, he didn't much care.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The classes were over. Sasha had left Hogwarts and was alone for once without his trio of friends. He had told them his mother would be in the country for a day or two and he was going to meet her. He would catch up with them later. His friends had been so _understanding_ and had wholeheartedly agreed that he should see his family. They arranged for him to meet up with them in the Potter household, where they would all be staying due to a change of plans that Sasha hadn't grasped all the details of.

The Potter's were members of the Order of the Phoenix also. From what he could gather, they wouldn't be the only people there either. Along with the Longbottoms, Sasha would be spending his holidays with Hermione, Ron and most of the Weasly family, a certain Remus Lupin and Sirius Black would be there also. It was even threatened that Albus Dumbledore himself might arrive.

Sasha arrived in Voldemort's base by apparation to the one spot in the mansion that allowed it. It was a small room, bare apart from a mirror that would curse anyone who wasn't permitted into the household. Sasha was given free travel and was not harassed by any of Voldemort's safety measures.

He wasn't fortunate enough to arrive entirely unobstructed though.

"The Dark Lord awaits your return."

Sasha turned on his heel to see Bellatrix Lestrange sitting in the corner of the room, leaning forward, arms and legs crossed and an excited grin on her face.

"Don't tell me he ordered you to come down here and tell me _that_." Sasha said.

Talk about stating the obvious. Of course Voldemort would be waiting for him; the man wrote to him and told Sasha he would be expecting him. It wasn't like the news would come as a surprise to Sasha.

Bellatrix shrugged, "Our Lord was afraid you might...wander off... if you weren't reminded."

Sasha sighed in exasperation. That sounded like Voldemort alright. He rolled his eyes. Bellatrix gave a delighted cackle.

"It's good to have you back, Sasha." Bellatrix said, swiftly standing up from her seat and wandering over to him. "It's been _so_ boring without you; no one duels like you do, Sasha."

"I imagine that's because no one will duel you." He replied.

Bellatrix scowled. "Cowards, the lot of them." He said in a hissing voice.

Sasha smiled. Bellatrix was Voldemort's best lieutenant for a reason; she was flawless when she duelled, brutal when she fought and competitive when she played. Those three characteristics merged together no matter how friendly the game was. Many Death Eater's had lost body parts to one of Bellatrix's 'friendly' games.

Sasha himself had lost his fair share of fingers when he was younger until Voldemort had forbidden her from using any sort of dismembering spells. Voldemort had gotten sick of putting digits back on Sasha and had warned Bellatrix that if it happened again, there would be trouble. Bellatrix had stopped for a while but started again not long after. Sasha had become quicker and hadn't lost any more fingers after that so Voldemort held his tongue and said that once it didn't become his problem, Bellatrix could do what she liked.

Even still, people didn't want to humour Bellatrix to a duel when she asked. Sasha would. Partly because he saw it as good practise and partly because over the years he had become familiar with Bellatrix's style and could keep up with her.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to wait for that duel, Bella." Sasha said.

Bellatrix's face fell. "Why?" She asked as an answer occurred to her, "Oh, because our master will desire your presence for the night." She said slyly with a smirk that suggested she was privy to some private information.

Sasha knew what she was implying and she was wrong. "No." He said, "Not that. I'm leaving again tomorrow."

The witch frowned. "The Dark Lord said you would be back for the next two weeks—at least. In fact, he explicitly said you might not have to go away again at all." She was pouting.

Sasha was frowning. "He said that?"

Bellatrix nodded her head, a little more eagerly than was strictly necessary.

It wasn't a good thing that Voldemort was half-expecting him to return triumphant. Not good at all. Particularly because Sasha had come back empty handed. The Dark Lord would not be pleased to have his expectations not met. Or his plans changed, if he made any. And he probably did; if there was ever a man that made plans it was Voldemort. Sasha sometimes imagined the man made at least ten different elaborate schemes before he even finished his morning tea.

"Well, this time he's wrong." Sasha said.

Bellatrix face changed with the fierce loyalty that flared against the barest hint of anything but utter trust in Voldemort's abilities. "The Dark Lord is _never_ wrong." She said sharply.

Sasha was going to argue that in this case he clearly was, but he knew from the look on Bellatrix's face that she would not let this go without a fight. He didn't have the time for a fight and this certainly wasn't a subject he was going to fight over.

So he forced out a patient, slightly strained smile and said, "Well, in that case, the circumstances have changed since then."

Bellatrix eyed him critically with her lips pursed. "Okay." She conceded eventually. "Fine."

"You're just grumpy because you have no one to play with." Sasha said with a quick grin.

"I'm _so_ bored."Bellatrix moaned, drooping her shoulders dejectedly. "It's just no fun when you're not around."

"Of course, it's not like you have a husband or anything to keep you busy."

Sasha laughed as he skipped back a step, avoiding Bellatrix's hand as she swiped for him.

"Watch your tongue or I might have to cut it off." Bellatrix warned darkly.

Huffing happily, Sasha said, "You couldn't hit me even if you wanted to." He challenged.

By the time Bellatrix whipped out her wand and flung a curse at him, Sasha had already removed himself from the room and was hurrying down the corridor in case she decided to follow. With a quick look over his shoulder, he saw that she wasn't and slowed his pace.

He moved through the mansion towards the Dark Lord's private quarters.

Sasha approached the door to Voldemort's private study.

He didn't bother knocking, just gripped the handle and pushed it open. He didn't make a grand entrance, but his presence was fairly obvious nonetheless. Sasha closed the door behind him with a dull click.

"You're late." Voldemort said nonchalantly, not looking up from whatever he was writing. Unperturbed by the lack of attention Sasha moved further inside. He padded over to the desk and sat down on the chair in front of it. He waited patiently for Voldemort to finish up.

Sasha didn't have to wait for long. Voldemort placed the quill onto the paper. He looked up and waited for Sasha to respond.

Sasha shrugged. "Unforeseen circumstances arose. You know how it is."

"Hmm, indeed." His tone was distracted, gentle, but Sasha knew a ruse when he saw one. The Dark Lord was subtly intent on him, "Tell me, have you completed your mission yet?"

Sasha scowled. He knew this would come up fairly promptly, he just wished it didn't arise quite that quickly. "I didn't appreciate that game you decided to play with me." He said, "Besides, I have been busy with other... activities."

"And what would these 'activities' be?" The Dark Lord asked with a raised brow, his red eyes on Sasha, impatience simmering inside them. Sasha felt the desire to delay, but knew not to push his master when he had such limited time as it was.

"Just little things. Trifles really. You understand the sort; attending classes, which, I learned by the way, are compulsory in Hogwarts. I also absolutely _had_ to make friends because after all, like you said; I should be mingling with people my own age. Other, less important things as well; breaking into the restricted section of the library, making allies with a herd of centaurs, getting invited to stay with the Order of the Phoenix. You know; _that_ sort of thing. Why, what have you been doing?"

"You _have_ been busy." Voldemort conceded, purposely ignoring the not so subtle jibes that Sasha had flung at him.

But yes, Sasha had been busy. More than Voldemort knew.

Sasha's fingers ran over the vial in his pocket. It held the _Expiscor Intentus_. He had finished brewing the complicated potion only days ago. He was still drinking blood replenishing potions to counter the amount he had to sacrifice for the damn thing. All that was left was to actually drink the potion. Something he was still not ready to do. He would need a day or two to recover after such a potent mixture and he would not get such a reprieve now.

"I have." Sasha said.

"And you have... _befriended_ the Order's children?" He said the word with such disgust that Sasha took a certain amount of sadistic glee in replying.

"We're best buddies now."

Sneering in revulsion, Voldemort turned his head away. "Lucius told me you failed to get into Slytherin." He said.

Sasha couldn't stop himself from smirking, it was too amusing. "I guess I'm really a good person at heart. The sorting hat doesn't tend to get it wrong. Besides, Gryffindor is less suspicious than Slytherin, wouldn't you say?"

Nodding stiffly, the Dark Lord reluctantly agreed. "I am not pleased with the progress of your mission." He said, changing the subject.

Green eyes rimmed with black narrowed dangerously, "And I am not pleased with being made jump through hoops for your pleasure. I am not just one of your _dogs_. I won't bark on your command. Tell me what it is you want and I will get it for you; I don'tunderstand why you're playing these games with me.

"I have searched Hogwarts again and again. You are asking me to find a secret in a building of secrets; a needle in a stack of needles. Whatever your reason is for keeping this information from me, it's ridiculous. It leads me to believe that what you have asked of me is nothing more than a test, an assurance of my loyalty—or whatever else you have in your twisted head."

Sasha's voice hadn't rose, but it didn't lessen the implication of his agitation. He was angry at having been left in the dark, frustrated that his plans for using the potion had been obliterated and irked that the Dark Lord had the audacity to sit there and judge him.

"Are you quite finished?" Voldemort asked calmly once Sasha stopped speaking. He didn't wait for Sasha to respond either way. "I have not told you what I am looking for because even though you are adept at Occlumens, Dumbledore is one of the most skilled Legilimens in the world. If he _happened_ to brush your mind, perhaps in an attempt to find more about your 'mysterious past', he would see that you were protected by Occlumency. All it would take would be a curiosity, a passing wonder as to why you might have such a thing at such a young age. He could take it upon himself to find out, to slip past your defences. You would be vulnerable to attack from him."

"I am a master Occlumens." Sasha said, offended, "I think I would know if someone was trying to break into my mind."

"Not with Dumbledore. Not him. He could have every single thought out of your head and stored away in his before you felt a tickle."

"Then why send me? Why put me in the firing line of a man that could—at whim—uncover every piece of information I had."

"Dumbledore finding out your true identity and affiliations would be less destructive to my cause then finding out your reasons for being there. It is why I have told you nothing. Even should he catch you, you would be unable to give any information away."

Sasha pursed his lips into a thin line.

"Well, he hasn't suspected me yet. So you can tell me." He said.

Voldemort looked at him with his deep red eyes. "That was not my only reason for not revealing the information."

"Go on."

"I still stick by my word; you will know it when you see it. And yes, this mission was a test. I wanted to see if you could put behind your petty issues and work for me reliably, not get distracted by other things. But this was not my reasoning."

"What was, then?"

"I knew."

Sasha blinked. "Knew what?" He asked.

"I knew you were aware of what it was that I wanted."

Sasha was silent for a very long time. "I wasn't. I amn't. I don't know what you want."

"But you suspect."

"How could I not?"Sasha asked, shaking his head, "Yes, I suspect. But suspicions...they mean nothing. They _are_ nothing. How can you expect me to carry out an entire mission based on a suspicion? What if I got it wrong? What if, after spending months searching for what I believed to be yours, I take it and leave and blow my cover. What if it wasn't the right thing? Dumbledore, I'm sure, has plenty of rare and powerful items. How could I know which one took your fancy?"

Leaning back in his seat, Voldemort said, "You know." He assured Sasha, "Because you listened to me when I spoke. For the past four years you have trained under me, lived here, with me. I know you learned from me; hung on every word I offered you. I know this. So I know, you knew what I would want."

Sasha released all the air from his lungs. "Immortality." He said quietly.

"Yes."

Closing his eyes, Sasha admitted to Voldemort that which he had suspected all along. "You wanted the Philosopher's Stone."

"Yesss." Voldemort hissed. "I knew you were intelligent enough to figure it out. I could see the cogs in your brain working as soon as mentioned it."

Sasha opened his eyes and said, "I don't know where it is."

"You will find it."

"I will." Sasha nodded in agreement.

Voldemort hummed. "Knowing what you did, I find it interesting that you did not look for the stone." He mused.

Sasha narrowed his eyes; he knew Voldemort was implying something. "I _did_ look for it. I searched everywhere from the Slytherin dungeons to the Forbidden Forest. There are only a few places I have not looked. And I would rather leave the headmaster's office until last."

"You did not look for the stone." Voldemort said with utter confidence, "You searched for nothing in particular. You did the bare minimum. But you did not look for the stone. I know you would have found it if you had truly put your mind to it."

Sasha was quiet, sitting before his master as an accused. He had nothing to say to Voldemort. The man was right. Sasha was guilty of this crime. But he dreaded the consequences, the questions that Voldemort would ask to uncover why Sasha had acted as he did.

"I am not angry," Voldemort assured him airily with a wave of his hand, "Though I am intrigued as to _why_. Why you decided to delay your mission. This is what I wish to know."

And if Sasha was any less disciplined, he would have sighed at being asked the very question he didn't want to answer.

"I already told you. I was partaking in other activities."

Voldemort nodded, "Ah yes, befriending the centaurs. That must have taken a whole night, did it? And the restricted section of the library? To read all of its books would take about a month—I recall that's how long it took me to do it. You were gone longer than a month and a day, Sasha. Tell me what took up so much of your time."

For a moment, Sasha was lost for words. What could he say? That he was beginning to enjoy Hogwarts and was not eager to leave? Would Voldemort believe that? Sasha looked at him with a critical eye. No, he didn't think so; it was too much of a lie to pull off. He certainly couldn't tell the Dark Lord the truth; that he had been working on the _Expiscor Intentus_ potion every night for months. Voldemort would go into a rage if he knew Sasha was risking his life to take the potion.

He couldn't say that. It would ruin all his plans. It was better to think of a convincing lie. One that Voldemort would believe, preferably.

"I have been cautious," He said instead, "I wanted to make as few waves as possible. People eventually would start to feel comfortable around me and information would slip out. I knew this. Already it's started happening; I've managed to get the Order's children to directly admit to opposing you. If they had even gotten a hint that I was up to something, that wouldn't have happened. I wouldn't have been invited into their homes either."

Voldemort raised a brow. "So you did it for spying purposes?"

"Yes." Sasha replied.

"But I do not need another spy within the order, you said so yourself before you left for Hogwarts, why would you think that would change?"

Voldemort had a point; Sasha _had_ said that. He almost wished he hadn't now. He could work around it though. Maybe.

"What spy have you? Snape?" Sasha snorted, "No, they don't trust him, not entirely. They tell him what he needs to know, they tell him the bare minimum so he doesn't think he's being kept out of the loop, but nothing more than that.

"But me? I can get close. They trust me. I fed them that ridiculous story we made up—and they fell for it. I've been with them for months, in their classes, at meals, at weekends. I've become a friend to them, helped them with homework and social dramas. I've even sworn my undying hatred for the Malfoy family. No one trusts Snape further than they can throw him. Barely four months and I have already been accepted more than him. You need me there, whether you choose to acknowledge this or not.

"What you seek will still be in Hogwarts when I get back. And who knows, perhaps the members of the order will let something slip about the Philosopher's Stone? I have been valuable despite my failure; you cannot deny that. How else would you have gotten the support of the centaurs? They would have sided with Dumbledore and accepted death if you had gone in and ordered their servitude. Between werewolves, wizards and now centaurs you are gaining an army and you would still accuse me of neglecting my duties?"

Lord Voldemort studied Sasha for a long time, looking at him dispassionately as he thought. Sasha resisted the urge to fidget. He didn't often lie to his master. He got away with it even less often.

"The centaurs really have sided with us?" Voldemort asked eventually, rubbing his chin.

"Well, not exactly..." Sasha admitted hesitantly, "They've sided with me. Not us. And not as completely as the werewolves. You know that centaurs don't care about the politics of the wizarding world. It doesn't matter to them what's going on as long as it doesn't wander into their forests. But we have come to an agreement of sorts. They will stay out of our way as long as we don't attack them. At the very least it guarantees they won't side with the Light."

"My, my, my," Voldemort mused humorously, "What _did_ you do to those poor centaurs to force them so, hmm?"

"Nothing," He shook his head, "They had encountered one of...my kind before. They knew of the power I'm supposed possess. They were frightened. Enough to break their rules and put their hostility of bi-peds behind them."

"Which raises the question; what power do you possess?"

Sasha sighed, wishing he could answer that question himself. "I don't know." He admitted gloomily, "When I went up to get sorted on the first night in Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat said there was power inside of me. It's dormant, he said, but it's there. Sometimes I think I feel it, but I'm probably being paranoid."

"We will find out soon enough then, I should think." The Dark Lord dismissed with a wave of his hand, "Tell me, what has inspired those children to allow you into the Order?"

"Like I said; they think I am their friend."

"That cannot be all." He denied with a shake of his head, "They would have needed more than that."

Sasha tried to smother a grin. He failed—miserably. "You have no idea how real people work, do you?" He laughed, knowing that such a thing would have gone over Voldemort's head, "I'm not a threat to them; I'm an average achieving student, I have been persecuted for my supposed 'half-blood' status, I've been fun and nice and—god forbid—a good friend.

"What reason do they have to doubt me? They believe they are more intelligent than they are; they think I would have slipped up by now if I was up to anything. I'm pretty much everything they wanted me to be as a friend. It doesn't hurt that Draco Malfoy appears to hate my guts either. That immediately brought us closer together." He shrugged.

Voldemort steepled his fingers in front of him. He leaned back in his chair. "Word has reached me of your..." A smirk, "Mid-night visit to the young Malfoy. From what I heard, he was quite petrified."

A high brow rose further, "And how did you hear that?"

"Bellatrix _is_ Draco's aunt, after all."

Sasha chuckled gleefully.

Sasha couldn't deny it; he had always had a soft spot for Bellatrix. She was crazy—to be sure, but for Sasha she was just the right amount of crazy and though she could be a little intense at times, she was one of the only people he could fully trust in a battle. Bellatrix was definitely someone he liked.

The fact that she could even appreciate Sasha's actions against her nephew was pleasing to him; Bellatrix rarely took well to threats against her family. She was as savage as a rabid dog when she felt her family was endangered. But then, Sasha was no threat to Draco, not really, there was no actual benefit for him to cause harm to the Malfoy heir and Sasha never did anything unless there was some benefit to it.

Bellatrix knew that. She was an intelligent woman; much smarter than many people gave her credit for. Something Sasha had seen her use to her advantage on more than one occasion.

"When are you expected at your classmate's home?" The Dark Lord asked with a very slight amount of distaste, as if he had eaten something rotten but was trying to be polite about it.

Sasha sighed, "Tomorrow. I couldn't get away for any longer. They'll be expecting me to return from seeing my poor, pathetic mother in the morning."

Quietly, Voldemort 'hummed'. "In that case, I must wish you a Happy Christmas now."

Christmas was not something Voldemort usually bothered with. In previous years, Sasha had barely heard murmurs of the occasion. Sasha himself was not much of a believer either and the lack of an event never really worried him. So why was it that Voldemort bothered with it this year? Sasha didn't know, but he couldn't deny that he had a certain amount of suspicion.

Sasha accepted with a nod but did not speak.

"Come." Voldemort ordered softly, beckoning him to move forward.

Becoming slightly wary, Sasha inclined his head as he weighed his options. Seeing nothing wrong, he stood up and took a few steps that left him around the desk, standing in front of his master, hands down by his side.

"Closer." The Dark Lord whispered, red eyes running up and down Sasha's form.

Knees touched knees before Sasha stopped. They stayed still for a long time, meeting each other's eyes easily. Sasha's head was running. What was Voldemort going to do? Sasha could never predict—not even after four years.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord's hand shot out and grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip that was almost painful. He yanked Sasha downwards roughly, smashing their lips together.

_Oh..._

Sasha finally understood. He relaxed and moved his lips in response, deepening their kiss. A strong hand fisted through his hair, forcing them closer together. Sasha's back bowed with the force and had to prop himself up by gripping onto the arms of the chair. They stayed in that position while they each battled the other for some sort of dominance in their aggressive and brutal meshing of mouths.

The Dark Lord let go of his grip and lightly pushed Sasha away, causing him to take a flinching step backwards. Sasha frowned in confusion. Voldemort stood up from his chair and fixed his immaculate robes, looking satisfied. "Come." He ordered simply as his stride carried him out of the room.

Sasha watched him go before shaking his head and following, smirking delightedly.

"What brought this on?" Sasha called after Voldemort.

The Dark Lord did not turn around or stop walking. "The mansion has been so peaceful and quiet since you left that I was left to my work undisturbed. Consequently, I now have a few hours to spare."

"Suits me." Sasha replied, following Voldemort into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 08

_Hi guys, just wanted to say thanks for reading and reviewing, the support has been fantastic! _

_Also, I'm going to start replying to anonymous reviews at the end of the chapters so if anyone want's to ask questions and they're too lazy or they don't have an account, just look there and I'll answer them._

_Anyway, thanks guys. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter 08<span>_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The Potter's house was strange.

They had to admit it was pleasant enough; the atmosphere was easy and the decor was tasteful and unpretentious; a rarity among pure-blooded wizards. The Potters themselves were nice people; a good looking couple, kind-hearted, capable and loyal members of the Order of the Phoenix. They were the type of people anyone would be honoured to have a conversation with. They could laugh and joke and at a moment's notice could switch to intelligent conversation and serious situations. They were good people.

But there was always something there. Something that bothered people who didn't know them well but it could never be identified. There was always an undertone with the Potters, something lurked beneath the surface of them and their brilliance. Sadness lingered in their presence and despite their brilliance, sometimes they seemed pitiful.

Neville, Ron and Hermione were all too aware of this and grew uncomfortable when they were subjected to it.

Lily Potter would sometimes look at them with a strange expression that was somewhere between longing and despair. Her gazes lingered always a moment too long and there was an odd underlying neediness when she spoke to them. It was as if she hung on every word they said, as if she valued their youth in a way that they could not understand. Sometimes, they got the impression she looking through them, imagining something else in their place.

A few years ago they had informed Mrs. Weasley about their discovery and asked for her to explain Lily's behaviour. Molly Weasley had promptly quietened the trio and told them some things were private and they should respect that privacy. She told them to leave well enough alone. It was better to let these things lie. For the most part, they listened to Ron's mother and gave up on the answer they weren't even sure they wanted to know.

It had been barely a year ago when they found out the truth; they learned that Lily and James Potter had lost their son. It had been a hushed conversation behind the closed door of James' study. The conversation had been with Sirius Black and the three of them had just happened to have wandered past at the precise moment when the subject had been approached. The thought had shocked them and they quickly hurried back to their rooms, surprisingly shaken by the revelation. They still weren't sure how the tragedy had happened.

The boy would have been about their age.

Hermione felt a great guilt for even being alive when their son was not—irrational though it was. Ron felt an overwhelming pity for them. Neville had a mixture of both. Either way, it made them uncomfortable to stay with the Potters.

To counter this, they kept busy; ignoring Lily's gloomy looks they sometimes felt on their backs. They spent their days exploring the vast mansion and finding interesting things or venturing out into the environs until they were called for lunch or dinner or to join in with some event or other.

It was usually entertaining, but they were looking forward to seeing Sasha. That way, they would have someone else to spend time with. Besides, Sasha usually had a good story or two about things and he would do well to have someone over the holidays.

They were waiting for him now in the sitting room. He wasn't late, not really, but they were eager to see him and, having nothing to do, time seemed to go slowly.

"I'm bored." Ron muttered from his place, slumped into the couch.

Neville sighed deeply. He shook his head. "I hope Sasha doesn't find this boring when he comes. He deserves a nice Christmas after everything."

They still weren't quite sure what 'everything' was but they knew Sasha sometimes went quiet after he received post or if they started talking about certain topics. Even though he never said anything about it, they all instinctively knew he had seen a great many things and they suspected only a few of them were good.

"I'm sure we'll be fine. Things are just a bit slow now because not everyone's here. It will all pick up soon, don't worry." Hermione told them, ever the voice of reason.

They settled further into their chairs.

"Shouldn't be long now..." Ron muttered hopefully.

A clock hung on the wall of the sitting room and ticked loudly as each second passed by. The steady rhythm of the sound soon became infuriatingly monotonous. Slowly, each of them started looking at the persistent instrument with something akin to hate.

It was saved, however, by a glorious sound.

The doorbell rang.

They all jumped up to get it.

They were beaten, however, by none other than Augusta Longbottom, moving at speeds that would appear impossible for a woman her age had it been anyone else. She opened the door elegantly, standing tall and proud as Sasha Kamenev was revealed to her. Although it had been clear to everyone in the house that the woman had been waiting eagerly, no one outside could have possibly known. Sasha couldn't have possibly known.

"Mr. Kamenev, I presume." Augusta announced holding out her hand to Sasha.

Sasha, if taken aback by the sudden appearance and swift movements of the old woman, hid it well. He smiled pleasantly and took her hand.

"Lady Longbottom, yes?" He asked, though with such confidence that it wasn't entirely inconceivable to say that he already knew.

She nodded, "Augusta, please. I should hope we could be a little less formal considering your friendship to my grandson."

"Of course, please call me Sasha, then. I'm not so comfortable with any titles anyway." He admitted.

Augusta smiled, a little distractedly, as she examined his face, her interest going towards his physical appearance. "I have only had the experience of meeting the Markova once when I was a girl," She told him, "You, my dear, are most definitely of their blood."

Sasha wasn't, and indeed would never be, of the Markova blood. He had a very slight look to some of them though; his features were dark and although many Markova were not, they had been given a name for being so. It must have been a very long time since Augusta Longbottom was a girl, because she clearly did not remember them all that well.

"I'm only half Markova." Sasha corrected her softly.

"Yes, of course. Well, no harm there, I suppose; there was word of a few... eccentricities running through the family. I imagine having some new blood would do the line the world of good."

Saying the Markova were eccentric, was like saying that Merlin was past his prime. The Markova were the craziest bunch of lunatics known to man. They weren't even the nice kind of insane; they were homicidal half the time and suicidal the rest. No one in their right mind would say they were normal. Eccentric was the polite way of brushing over the issue.

Sasha would happily let it be swept away. He nodded. "I imagine so." He repeated in agreement. He then looked over at his friends. They were standing a few feet behind the Longbottom matriarch, looking slightly surprised.

Neville's family were old school; they knew the customs and the manners. Hermione was a mud-blood and Ron was from a muggle-loving traitor family and neither of them would have been acclimatised to such rituals. Neville could walk the walk if he wanted, yet he chose not to. Sasha wasn't sure whether that was something to be admired or not.

He himself had only learned them because it was necessary for his cover as a Markova.

"Well, come inside, you must be tired." Augusta Longbottom said abruptly as she ushered Sasha in and shut the door behind him.

"Hey guys." Sasha greeted the quiet trio in front of him.

They chorused back a similar greeting. They looked bemused. Sasha had learned from Ron a few weeks ago that Augusta Longbottom was an infamously difficult person to impress. Once she admired someone, she was warm and welcoming, but that was rare and almost impossible.

Sasha seemed to have managed it.

He didn't think it was through any of his own merit though. He imagined it was more to do with the very old and almost entirely pure Markova blood that was supposed to be flowing through his veins. The Markova line, despite all the mental instability, was still given a lot of respect among all purebloods.

Even a half-blood reject like he was supposed to be would still be held in high regard by the pureblood circles of Britain. Sasha had no doubt that Lady Longbottom was thinking in terms of contacts. He didn't blame her; it was what purebloods did, but she was going to be so disappointed when she realised Sasha was lying to her.

Augusta Longbottom guided him past the foyer and into through a door near the staircase. Hermione, Ron and Neville followed silently after them. Sasha didn't know for sure if this was strange behaviour or not, having never been in a situation of this kind, however, it certainly didn't feel right. It was awkward and he was nervous to enter the very epicentre of the Order of the Phoenix.

The door near the staircase opened up into a corridor which led to a picturesque kitchen. It was done in the old English style that one would expect to find in a stereotypical country cottage. There was even the large copper cooking equipment and the bulky stove to cook food on. It wasn't a typical wizard's kitchen. It was almost exactly a muggle kitchen.

How curious.

As far as Sasha knew, James Potter was a pureblood. His wife, Lily was muggle-born but Sasha would have thought she would have enough shame to try and blend into her husband's status. Instead, they seemed to flaunt the fact that it was a mixed marriage. For the life of him, Sasha couldn't figure out why they would want to do such a thing. The more he learned of these people, the stranger he found them.

As they entered the kitchen, Sasha became aware of another person inside. It was a woman—probably the aforementioned Lily Potter. She was bending over to pick something out of an oven. She turned when she heard them enter, a friendly smile on her face. Oven mitts on her hands, red hair brushed onto one shoulder, apron over her clothes. She was holding a baking tray full of small canapés, which, when her eyes met Sasha's, she dropped.

_Crash!_

Mini-quiches and cocktail sausages scattered every which way as the ceramic baking dish shattered to pieces on the floor.

It was barely noticed. What was, however, was the blanching of Lily's skin and the look of pure, unadulterated shock on her face. Her eyes were wide and glistening. Her hands shook so much that the oven mitts fell off and hit the floor. Her lips trembled.

"Harry?" She whispered in the voice of someone who thought they might be about to throw up.

The noise attracted immediate attention.

The room exploded.

James Potter and Sirius Black rushed in from doors Sasha hadn't even noticed. They looked around frantically, both of them drawing their wands. Sasha fought the urge to get his own weapon ready to defend himself in retaliation.

"_No..._" He had to remind himself sternly, "_They couldn't possible know anything, stay in character"._

Slowly, looking confused, he turned around and switched his gaze from Lily Potter to her husband and Sirius Black and then back again. He hadn't imagined meeting the Order of the Phoenix under these circumstances. He had hoped he wouldn't. In fact, it was exactly how he _didn't_ want to meet them.

Who was this Lily Potter? Had she met him before? Did they fight on one of his missions? He didn't think he had seen her face before and he was sure he wouldn't have forgotten it, so what was the deal? It worried him. If she hadn't met him, did she suspect? The way she looked at him was as if she knew something about him that he didn't.

Whatever it was, it wasn't good. He would have to keep a close eye on Lily Potter.

She had said 'Harry', hadn't she? Did she think he was someone else?

"Lily? Are you alright?" James asked cautiously.

Lily didn't answer. Emerald eyes stared at black rimmed ones. She wouldn't forget those eyes. They were her son's eyes. Utterly unique, utterly magnificent. She didn't know how it was possible; her son was supposed to be dead. They told her so sixteen years ago. Her mind whirled.

"Lily, what's going on?" James asked again.

"James." Augusta Longbottom said with a shake of her head. It was a quiet message, but clear; leave the lady alone. "I think, Sasha," She said gently, lightly pushing him back, "That we should get you settled in; it's been a long day."

Sasha gave a slight nod, tearing his eyes away from the quivering woman. He made to leave.

"Don't!" Lily cried suddenly. She reached her hand out to stop him. James swiftly took a hold of her arm, misinterpretation his wife's movements.

Everyone stared. Sasha couldn't blame them; he was staring too.

Lily abruptly turned to James. "Don't you see?" She asked frantically.

"Lily, I..."

"Let me go; it's Harry! It's my son." She tugged her arm out of his grasp and rushed over to Sasha, gathering him up into her arms. Sasha froze at the touch, standing rigid within her grasp, hoping she would stop and too shocked to do anything about it himself. He looked around to the unfamiliar faces, hoping that they would help him.

Everyone seemed shocked, too surprised to move. James looked sickened. He averted his eyes and swallowed a visible sadness. Sasha almost missed this however, as he realised Lily was crying into his shoulder. He could feel the wetness seep through his clothing and moisten his skin.

It was too much. He couldn't take it.

She had called him Harry. Who the hell was Harry?

"I, uh..." Sasha stammered, "My name is Sasha." He told her as he awkwardly brought his hands up and gently eased her off of him.

Lily's eyes searched his face desperately. "No..." She whispered, "You're not. You're Harry. You're my son."

"For Merlin's sake, Lily!" James cried with a breaking voice, "Give it up. He's dead!"

Every single person in the room was staring at their feet, clearly too interested in their shoes to help Sasha get away from this surreal situation. How did he get caught up in this strange lover's spat? This was crazy. The whole thing was bizarre. She couldn't be in her right mind. No one ever told him Lily Potter was a head case. It would have helped frankly, to know that he would be mauled by some woman upon entering.

More than anything, Sasha couldn't believe this was it.

This was the rebellion against the Dark Lord. These people were the givers of hope? When he next got in contact with Voldemort, the man was going to have to give him some answers as to why he hadn't crushed them already.

Lily fumbled to grasp Sasha's head and bury it on her breast as she stood protectively around him like a she-wolf with a cub. Sasha could hear her heart. It beat strongly against his ear. He wondered why he wasn't moving away in disgust. The sound of her heartbeat brought back half-formed memories of feeling safe and secure in the arms of someone. It was not something he ever remembered happening before.

It was kind of nice. Not that he would ever admit it. Not that he would put up with it.

With half a sigh, Sasha figured this farce had gone on long enough. He wrenched himself from the needy clutch. He took a step back, looking calmly into the shocked, hurt eyes of the clearly mentally unstable Lily Potter.

"I don't know what's going on here," He announced to the room, "And I'm sorry about your son, Mrs. Potter. But I'm not him. My name is Sasha Kamenev. My mother was Freya Markova and my father was Andrei Kamenev."

He looked around. No one moved. Lily looked at him, betrayal on her features. Sasha had to fight the desire to shake his head. Since his words didn't seem to be eliciting any sort of response, Sasha spoke again.

"I'm sorry that I caused such havoc," He said softly, "Maybe it would be better if I just left." His voice was meek and dejected and he stared at his feet before he tried to shuffle away, hiding both his hope that he didn't have to be there and his agitation that he wouldn't be able to spy on them.

Before he could leave though, he was stopped by Augusta Longbottom's hand on his shoulder and Lily's voice simultaneously.

"No." Lily said softly, "I'm sorry. I completely overacted. I apologise for my behaviour and if I scared you. That should not have happened; I don't know what came over me."

Her voice was the epitome of reason. Gone was the needy desperation that had soaked her words beforehand. She looked barely affected by his presence now, though she clearly had not been two minutes ago. Lily Potter was almost an entirely different woman, standing now before him, tall and elegant and in a persona that was polar opposite to her previous one.

Sasha resisted the desire to narrow his eyes suspiciously.

Lily Potter was up to something. She seemed strangely keen to have him around. Of course, the fact that she believed she was his mother would have a great impact on that desire. Sasha wasn't sure if he should even accept her apology though; the woman barely seemed sane, what would happen if she decided to brew a heritage potion?

His cover would be blown.

It wouldn't matter who his real parents were, she would see that he had no relation to the Markova. He could, perhaps, look shocked and appalled at the thought of perhaps not being his 'mother's' real child. He could construct a scenario of being adopted. But that was not ideal either; it would be a stretch to make it work.

Quite a stretch—too much of one probably. These were not stupid people; they wouldn't believe anything he fed them. At some point their trusting natures would quieten long enough for them to say 'hang on' and really consider what he was telling them.

It was best he just stay away from Lily. If he kept his guard up around her, she would not be able to take his DNA for the potion. Let her believe her fantasies; they would not involve him any more than in her own dreams.

Slowly, Sasha gave a nod, "It's okay," He said with a shrug, "These things happen." He gave her an understanding he didn't feel. Secretly he filed the information he had on her away for later, but as far as he was concerned, the woman was almost as crazy as the Markova that he claimed to be related to.

"Neville," Augusta Longbottom's strong voice commanded all of a sudden, "You take Sasha and show him his room. I'm sure he's tired."

"Yes, Gran." Neville said, conforming nicely to his grandmother's wishes. "Come on, Sasha. Your room's beside ours."

Neville led Sasha out of the room. As they left, he heard Ron and Hermione chime together, "We'll go too." And then their advancing footsteps, hurried by the awkwardness of the situation.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron muttered as they climbed the staircase.

What the bloody hell indeed. Sasha had no clue.

He wasn't exactly eager to find out either.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Despite the incident in the kitchen, the next few days had gone by without any more incidents. He had met all the different members of the Order and had appeared to have gotten on well with all of them. No one seemed to suspect his ulterior motive and Sasha was happy enough to keep them in the dark.

Occasionally, he would feel a pair of eyes on him but when he turned around, it was not any of the Order members but instead it was always Lily Potter. He would give her a smile, which she would react to by looking away quickly and fidgeting with something—usually her hair or the simple pearl necklace that he had never seen her without.

Lily Potter struck Sasha as a woman who was damaged. Perhaps she had once been great; Hermione certainly believed she had—but now she was broken. Sasha didn't know much about families, and perhaps he hadn't had the best experiences with them having grown up in an orphanage and then the streets, but he supposed losing her son could have done it. It seemed, somehow, a bit melodramatic for him, but between talking to people and overhearing conversations, he gathered that she was acting normally for an ex-mother.

Sasha wouldn't have cared, except he was the object of her attention. That bothered him. He had long since learned that survival was based on not being noticed. As it was there, Lily Potter made him the centre of these people's attentions. It set him on edge and more than once he had jumped at sounds that weren't, but he had thought to be, hostile.

It took a lot of effort to hide his learnt paranoia and he was only barely managing it.

When he wasn't with Neville, Ron and Hermione, he spent time talking to other members of the Order, building a good rapport with them. If he managed to break away from their ever-so-stimulating conversations then he was often found in the Potter library. There weren't a lot of books that were any interest to Sasha. He was just searching for hints of something to do with the Philosopher's Stone. Anything would do; a mere mention and Sasha would see his search as worthwhile.

As it was though, he wasn't having much luck.

It was Christmas Eve and he was in the library. He had almost given up hope finding anything of interest in the small room, but as he put a book about charms back in its place, he spotted something he couldn't believe he had missed before.

The book was discarded onto the table as he went back to the gap in the shelf. He had to squint to make sure what he was seeing was real. Behind the book had been a small, carved out hole in the wall. It was about the right size for a book—one book—and nothing else.

There was a book in there now.

Sasha felt for any sort of wards around the hole. There were two. One was an alarm ward and the other was one he had read about quite a lot; if broken, it would erase any and all information written on the book's pages.

Sasha slowly took out his wand. It was the brother to Voldemort's own; a Japanese Maple wand with an Augurey core. An unusual object. Unusual, and powerful. And completely meant for him. It sang every time he used it.

It was singing now, softly, barely audible in his ears, but there, present, soothing.

The wand had chosen Sasha as definitely as Voldemort's own had picked him. It had been the result of a late night break in to Ollivander's shop a few weeks after they had discovered he could do magic. They didn't know why the wands had chosen them and found it interesting that as master and servant they were bound also by the bonds of wand brotherhood.

Sasha didn't know the implications of having such similar wands—or even if there was any, but the fact that his wand was almost the same as his master's made him wonder.

Sasha had always been loyal to Voldemort. From the first moment he saw the man, Sasha knew that he would follow him—no matter what the consequences. He had always felt this was more of a compulsion than a mere passing fancy. Something deep within told him to give his services to Voldemort.

Initially that feeling had been the only reason he had joined the Dark Lord. To a certain extent, it was the reason he stayed. But it was not the whole reason anymore. Sasha had grown to like the Dark Lord, despite all of his grievances with the world and he genuinely enjoyed his life serving him. That was the real reason that he stayed.

But Sasha often wondered if their wands had something to do with the bond he and the Dark Lord had clearly shared on that very first meeting when he was eight years old.

Sasha shook his head and worked at slowly breaking down the wards. One by one, they bent under the pressure and he pressed through them, taking his wand away and reaching in with his free hand to grab the book. Upon a quick inspection of the outside cover, Sasha figured that it was just a normal journal. Probably old.

He flicked through it. The text inside was handwritten in a beautiful, flamboyant script that started off neat and orderly but became progressively messy as he neared the end. Casting a suspicious glance around, Sasha opened the book on the first page and started reading.

Most of what he read was rambling and unclear. There was a lot of talk about a certain man that had remained nameless, only called P.D. P.D seemed to be the reason for this whole journal. He was the first and only real person to be mentioned. In fact, the journal seemed to be dedicated to studying him, trying to figure out _what_ he was.

Just what was this person researching? He suspected that it was Lily Potter who wrote this, but he couldn't be sure. Either way, the writer believed that this man was a powerful creature with strange abilities.

Everything in the journal was vague at best. But after a searching through it twice, Sasha found something of interest. A physical description of the man called P.D. He was depicted as an ethereal creature with the ability to influence people's thoughts and actions. He was handsome—very handsome—and tall, with dark eyes and dark hair.

He was a good dancer, apparently, and quite a smooth talker too.

A strange statement to add in—especially since it spoke more of a personal interest than a scientific study.

Flicking through more pages, Sasha frowned. There was a piece of paper, small and with jagged edges. He picked it up and had to squint with the effort of trying to decipher the scroll. It had obviously been written in haste. He read it with a scowl as he tried to understand what he was looking at;

_Prophecy._

_That's the key. _

_They must have seen everything before it happened. That's how they knew. Everything was already put into place and we were all helpless to stop it. We were nothing more than pawns to them. _

_Only moving pieces in their game. _

_And we all played our parts spectacularly. Myself best of all of us. I walked straight into their grasps and now they have ruined my life. He has ruined me. Does he have my son with him? Or is he really dead? I can't accept that. I know he is alive. I know he has him. I will find them; I will have my son back. I won't allow him to be dead._

He put the piece of paper back into the page he had found it in. He flicked forwards another few pages then, to find one more note. This time its message was shorter—but much more shocking. Sasha's breath caught in his chest.

_Was it because of the Philosopher's Stone?_

It was all that was written. Nothing else, no context, no answer. Just that one question.

The Philosopher's Stone.

What did Lily Potter have to do with the Philosopher's Stone? Sasha vaguely remembered Voldemort mentioning his search for the stone. The one that had ended badly for him. It had been the reason he had travelled to London in the first place, the reason why he had taken a new body.

It had been an ambush. Dumbledore had tricked him into believing the stone was in the possession of an Order member. He had gone for it and had been attacked. It was a battle he had lost.

It had been in the Potter's house. Not this one, of course, but another one. That was it, Sasha remembered now. Did Lily think her losing her son had been some kind of retribution for pretending to have the stone? Sasha couldn't see the logic in it but perhaps there was more to this story than he knew.

Could this man, this P.D, have approached Lily in order to obtain the Philosopher's Stone for himself? Did he take her son because she would not give it to him? Did that even make sense? Sasha couldn't say for sure; there weren't enough details here for him to make a proper judgement.

And what of this prophecy that was mentioned on that piece of paper. Was there even a prophecy? Sasha didn't even know if the writer was a reliable source. If it was Lily who was writing this—and Sasha certainly believed that it was—then should he trust anything she said? The woman clearly wasn't stable.

Sasha looked around again, paranoid that someone was there. There was nothing except stillness in the small library, but Sasha figured it was time to put the book away. He wouldn't risk staying any longer and besides, there seemed to be little more lucidity in the rest of the journal. Just bits and pieces, musings and theories with no real direction or purpose.

The book fit neatly back into its hiding place. Sasha worked carefully to reconstruct the wards around it so that no one would notice any difference. He stood back for a moment to admire his work. When he had had enough, he put the charms book back in front of the secret place and made his way out of the library, shutting the door quietly as he went.

As he walked down the corridor towards his bedroom, he heard hushed voices coming from one of the many doors. His steps slowed down and became silent as he moved to lurk outside the target door. He strained his ears to hear the conversation, determined to not miss anything.

"_I have no idea..."_ It was the voice of James Potter on the other end of the door. It made sense; the room was James' study.

"_She's practically obsessed with him! You must know why she thinks he's her son." _That was Sirius Black.

Sasha had spoken to Sirius two or three times before. He had acted happily and had appeared carefree and easy-going. But Sasha had sensed a certain underlying dissection. He asked Sasha questions about himself in a light tone, but he had hung on every word of his lies and had noted them duly. Sasha had not been lulled into thinking the man was harmless, despite the obvious intention to drive him to that conclusion.

"_She's just confused; she doesn't know what she's doing." _James defended his wife.

"_Confused?"_ Sirius scoffed, _"She's started brewing a heredity potion! I walked in on her and she almost hexed me when I threw her potion away. She's gone crazy. Talk some sense into her, James; you're her husband, she'll listen to you."_

James laughed bitterly, _"She hasn't listened to me since we met. It only got worse after the first war started and ever since Harry... well, we haven't really been able to speak much with each other."_

"_Well either way, you'll have to do something; I've seen the way Lily looks at the kid, she'll do something irrational to prove that he's Harry. The kid's Markova, James, who knows if something like that could upset him and throw him off the deep end."_

"_I'm sure he won't—"_

Sirius interrupted him, _"But we don't _know_! We barely know anything about him and he while he seems like a good kid, you have to know that with his past he'll have issues."_

They were quiet for a very long time. Eventually James replied, _"Yeah, you're right. I'll talk to her later. It's just hard, you know? Sometimes I think she's a completely different person after it all happened and I feel..."_

James hadn't stopped talking, but Sasha had stopped listening. He wasn't interested in James Potter's _feelings_. He grimaced, feeling icky for having to listen to them. He would hardly consider discussing their feelings in that matter to be productive—and it certainly didn't do anything for Sasha.

He decided to call it a night and return to his room, pleased overall with how things went today. Sasha allowed himself to feel a little smug at his discoveries. But Lily Potter was weighing on his mind. She was someone who could be potentially dangerous to his mission. Sasha wondered if he would be suspected of foul play if she should die in any 'unusual' circumstances.

Probably.

It was a risk he couldn't quite convince himself to take. Well...damn. She was annoying him and he would so _love_ to have her out of the way. Unfortunately the world did not work that way. It was no wonder Voldemort had not made him a spy; he had to fight the urge to kill the _one_ person that was drawing attention to him, imagine if they were any less trusting.

Merlin, life was difficult.

Sasha sighed and made his way to his bedroom.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Blood. It was everywhere. All around him, on him. Everywhere. The smell hit his nostrils with an almost surreal intensity. Metallic and strong, it assaulted his senses and kicked his gag reflex into gear. Looking down at himself, Sasha stared, horrified and sickened at what he saw.

His clothes were saturated. Stained forever reddish brown. Slick and sticky. His arms and legs and hands and face were covered in it. It was everywhere. There should not have been that much blood. No one body could produce such an amount. It clung to his skin like maltose. It was in his hair. Like some sort of macabre hair gel, his hair was slickened and pushed back, full of blood.

It wasn't his. He _was_ in pain—a distant, lingering pain, more of a memory really. But there were no wounds, no fresh cuts or old, reopened ones. He was unharmed. It was not his blood. Whose was it?

God, it was everywhere.

He looked around, but all he could see was red and black. His eyes weren't working right. Why not? What had happened? He tried to think, put some context on the situation, but he couldn't. He didn't know anything. He was panicking.

The bile rose in his throat and he fell the burning at the back of his mouth.

He swallowed a whimper.

He shook his head and wiped his eyes, smearing more blood along his face.

He screamed.

And Sasha woke up.

Breathing hard, Sasha's eyes snapped open in the darkened room. It took him a moment to come to his senses. He stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling, almost panicking while he tried to remember where he was. If he wasn't so shaken, he would have laughed at himself upon realising he was in the Potter household still.

Sasha sat up shakily, the covers falling off of his form and pooling around his waist. Closing his eyes, he calmed his breathing. It was a dream. Just a dream. That was what he tried to tell himself.

But he knew it wasn't.

In order to reassure himself, Sash opened his eyes and looked down to prove that there was no blood on him. He flinched when he saw the red streaking up his arms. His hands were completely covered.

Breath catching in his throat, Sash made a startled sound and scrambled out of the bed and over into the en suite at the other end of the room. He barely had time to mutter a light spell as he passed and rushed over to the basin.

He flicked the water on full power and shoved his arms under the freezing water, scrubbing frantically as the room began to light up. In a desperate fashion, Sasha's clawed hands worked at removing the blood on his arms. He stared down as he did, concentrating hard on removing the evidence of...something from his skin.

The water ran red.

It wasn't coming off though. It was stuck to him. It wouldn't budge, no matter how much scrubbing he did. The water was frigid by then—downright icy. Sasha's hands and fingers had gone numb. He fumbled one hand over the other.

It wasn't working...

Sasha let out a long shaky breath and grabbed a towel from the rail. With savage strokes, he dried his abused arms. His eyes wandered to the mirror over the sink. He stared at himself, frozen. Blood had sprayed across his face; an impact shot.

Slowly, Sasha shuffled in closer and brought a red stained finger to his face, watching how the half dried blood smudged under his touch and became an imperfect smear. As he brought his hand down, the towel in his other grasp fell with a soft 'thump' onto the floor and his feet. The motion made him jump in shock.

Sasha's head snapped down to the towel and he found himself staring yet again. The clean, white towel lay innocently on the ground, spotless. Not a drop of watery red. There should have been. It should have been covered in the stuff, despite the amount left on himself.

Reaching down with stiff fingers, Sasha plucked up the towel and examined it more thoroughly. He still didn't find a speck of dirt on it though. It was the same brilliant white that it had been when he had grabbed it.

Sasha studied himself in the mirror once more. Beyond the blood, he looked tired, haunted. His eyes were wide and brimming with a certain vulnerability that he didn't enjoy seeing in himself. He blinked a few times and saw the specks of red on his face move, ever so slightly.

Staring for a few more moments, Sasha lowered his eyes and realised what this was.

"...Not real..." He muttered to himself as he threw the still spotless towel off to the side.

The blood wasn't real. Just the memory.

That's all it was; a memory of blood. The more he blinked and rationalised it out, the more his skin cleared and returned to normal until all was left was his raw, well-scrubbed hands and arms. It had been all in his head.

He supported himself with a hand on either side of the basin and leaned his forehead on the mirror in front of him. His breath fogged up the glass. Sasha was glad he didn't have to see himself; he knew how pathetic he would look. He was shaken, scared and worried.

Occlumency had its uses. Hiding memories behind thick, mental walls was one such use. He erected a strong defence against the unpleasant thoughts and sealed them away tightly.

He couldn't deal with that memory right now. Sasha needed all his wits about him to fool the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't have the time to deal with that. He needed to keep it bottled up for as long as he could.

It had been years since he last thought about that day; the blood, the cold, the loneliness, the horror. It made him feel sick even enduring the vague flashes his mind's eyes was conjuring before him.

Weakness. That's what it was. A weakness that he would have to beat. He would triumph over this and he would forget about it. He needed to be strong. It didn't matter what had happened in the past. This was the present and Sasha had Voldemort's future to worry about. He wouldn't look behind. He wouldn't fall victim to the half formed memories he had been denying for so long. He would not lose.

He wouldn't fail his master.

Slowly, Sasha's inner pep talk began to have an effect. Bit by bit, his body relaxed and he found himself leaning heavier and heavier on the glass surface. He was beginning to get tired again. That was a good sign. That meant the trauma was starting to ebb.

Pushing himself off of the sink, Sasha took slow, shuffling steps out of the bathroom, putting out the light with a wave of his hand. He looked over to the old grandfather clock in his bedroom. The hands claimed it had just turned three in the morning.

Sasha found himself looking at the clock for a few moments while his tired mind tried to work. Eventually he remembered what to do and he climbed into his bed. The sheets were crisp and clean and as blood-free as the rest of the place.

He thought he would fall asleep immediately as his head hit the pillow. Instead, Sasha found himself awake, troubled by wisps of the memory and how they had chosen to express themselves and when.

He couldn't break down here. He needed to be strong. This was nothing that could not be dealt with at a later date.

Eventually, he felt his eyes begin to droop.

"Happy bloody Christmas." Sasha muttered to himself, remembering the date while he waited to fall asleep.

* * *

><p><em><span>To Anne<span>: You're right; the relationship between LV and Sasha does seem to be a little fast at the moment. I will put more detail into it at a later date. The only thing I can say for now is that there is a lot going on behind the scenes and Sasha's so preoccupied with everything that's happening that he can't quite focus on much else. _

_A POV from Voldemort would probably make this clearer but I want to keep him as mysterious as I can, though there will be a scene later in the story that will deal with everything you mentioned. I'm afraid for the moment I'm going to have to ask you to suspend your disbelief though. :) _

_Thanks for the review!_

_..._

_To Anna: sorry I didn't put this in the last chapter; I meant to, I just forgot. In answer to your question, no Sasha isn't a sidhe, but it's a good guess. Makes for a cool story plot as well though!_


	10. Chapter 09

_Just wanted to say that I'm going on holidays this week so the next update is going to be a little bit delayed. Thanks. Enjoy!_

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><p><em><span>Chapter 09<span>_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Christmas day had come and gone.

It was full of families and presents and a cheery mood all around. Sasha had never had a proper, normal Christmas and he doubted every action he made and everything he said, not knowing the appropriate ways to act. He feared that he had appeared awkward and unsure.

It wasn't exactly suspicious but people had been surprised. Who wasn't familiar with Christmas? It was easy enough to stumble his way through a sentence explaining his situation though. His parents hadn't followed Christmas, apparently; and had done away with the occasion. The Order of the Phoenix could accept that.

In the end, the day had gone fairly alright and it had passed without incident.

That was good. That meant that Sasha had not alerted anyone to anything.

He began to feel more comfortable in his role around the Order members. He felt like he had a grasp on what they were like and what motivated them. The more time Sasha spent with them the more he realised that he didn't exactly hate them.

Really, there was very little for him there to hate.

Sasha had always been loyal to Voldemort—unwaveringly loyal, in fact, but that didn't mean he believed in everything his master did. Frankly, Sasha thought Voldemort's beliefs on muggles were a bit melodramatic. Sasha, having grown up in an orphanage and then as a street child, had seen a great many abuses. But he had also witnessed some good. He had seen people dedicate their lives to others. Or some who would give up their time to help those gone even beyond help.

To say that all muggles were vermin was ridiculous; it was like saying all dogs were vicious or all purebloods were powerful. Yet Voldemort did not see things in grey. Only in black and white. Dark and Light. He had hinted, some time ago to Sasha that he had seen badness in muggles and little else growing up. Sasha could believe that. He also believed that Voldemort would refuse to have his views challenged once he made up his mind.

It was a topic that Sasha could bring up for debate if his master was in a good enough mood. Ultimately, Voldemort would win but Sasha often wondered if he said it enough, would the man eventually take stock and see his close-mindedness.

He doubted it somehow. Voldemort was good at a great many things; admitting he might be anything but absolutely correct was not one of those things.

Another was his belief that personal connections were weaknesses. The Dark Lord did not believe in emotional attachments. People were pawns. They had a use and, like any tool, they could be thrown away at a moment's notice. That was all.

Sasha was under no delusions; he was allowed in the Dark Lord's presence only as long as he was useful to him. He wouldn't deny that he was expendable because Sasha knew he was; he could feel it every day. In regards to himself, Sasha would not criticise Voldemort for his beliefs; Sasha knew his role, he was aware of what it entailed and what would happen if he couldn't fulfil it. But that didn't mean Sasha believed in it as a whole.

It was true that Sasha was not quick to trust and he almost never actively sought out people. But he understood that if it hadn't been for others, he would never have survived, either on the streets or in Voldemort's care. People had their uses and as more than just pawns. The Dark Lord couldn't see it, but people were necessary. One couldn't always rely on themselves to watch their back. People needed people who were there because they wanted to be and not out of fear or duty.

So it was with that understanding that Sasha looked on at the Order of the Phoenix without hatred or even scorn. They understood the value of having a network, of working together to produce something. They took it a little too far in Sasha's view but the main idea was there. He could respect that.

"Sasha!"

It was Sirius Black who called him.

Sasha shifted in his chair and looked towards Sirius questioningly, "Yes?" He said.

He was in the kitchen with Hermione and Ron. Neville had run upstairs to retrieve something from his room. They had been talking until Sirius interrupted them.

"Mind giving me a hand with the marquee?" He asked.

Sasha looked at Sirius and resisted the urge to frown. "Sure." He said, getting up and leaving the other two with a puzzled look and shrug back to them. They looked equally confused but not in any way bothered by it so Sasha didn't worry.

He followed Sirius Black out to the garden.

"Thanks for the help." Sirius said.

"It's not a problem." Sasha replied, "But I don't know how much help I'm going to be, to be honest."

It was New Year's Eve and they were getting ready to have another fun filled event. It seemed to be pretty much one after another. Sasha had never seen such a succession of useless events in his life. He didn't even know if this was supposed to be normal or not.

Lily and Mrs. Weasley had been baking and cooking all morning and had taken a break from the work while the ovens did their work. Fred and George were putting the final touches to their fireworks display in a corner of the garden that no one was quite brave enough to venture near. Remus Lupin was there too, untangling a mass of fairy lights with some spell that was entirely too esoteric for Sasha to know.

"You'll be fine." Sirius said, inspecting the heap of white cloth on the grass before them. "It's not very hard anyway; I'm sure your father's shown you how to do it before?"

Sasha shook his head, "No." He said, "Not putting up tents. Isn't really the hands on type, my father."

"Really? Could have sworn it was like a rite of passage or something. You never know when you'll need to pitch a tent."

Sasha nodded but didn't speak. He had lived seventeen years and had not once found himself in a situation where tent pitching was necessary. But then, with the amount of pointless events these people had, it probably was an important lesson for them to learn.

"Anyway," Sirius continued, "It's like this."

Sirius told Sasha the incantation and explained to him that because the marquee was so big, they would need to work on both sides. It didn't have to be at the same time or anything, so he wasn't to worry if he couldn't get the spell right first time. Sasha wondered why Sirius needed him in the first place if the two sides didn't have to be put up at the same time but he kept quiet and just nodded.

"Alright? Got that?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, I think so." Sasha said. He took out his wand from his pocket and Sirius did the same.

Sasha was already moving to the side when Sirius said, "Hey, cool wand."

Yes, it was a cool wand. It was an unusual wand. Sasha couldn't deny that, but it wasn't immediately noticeable unless it was looked upon with a critical eye. That raised a question; why was Sirius Black looking at his wand critically?

"Yeah," Sasha said, stopping, "It's Asian."

Sirius moved to close the distance, stepping in close. "Asian?" He asked, sounding impressed, "Mind if I take a look?" Sirius took the wand before Sasha could say that yes, he did mind.

The wand reacted badly to the foreign grasp. It sparked and hissed as the rapid build up of heat burned the air. Sasha quickly plucked the wand from Sirius' hand before it did any damage and burned him. He could still feel the remnants of heat on his own skin as he swapped the wand into his right hand, the one furthest away from Sirius.

"Sorry," Sasha said, "It's quite temperamental."

Sirius nodded. "I can see that." He replied, eyes downcast and studying the wand in Sasha's grasp. "Can't be an Ollivander wand." He remarked.

"It isn't." Sasha agreed, "It's a Botum Oung." He said.

Sirius raised a brow, nodded interestedly and then said, "Never heard of him."

Giving a patient smile, Sasha said, "_She_'s the Ollivander of Cambodia."

Botum Oung may or may not have made his wand. In truth, Sasha didn't know. It had been in Ollivander's shop when he had gone in and though it was clear the old man had not made it, it was less obvious why he had it at all.

"I see," Sirius said, unfazed by his mistake, "And what kind of wood is that?"

Sasha was beginning to suspect the motive behind the questions. Why would Sirius take so much interest in his wand? Did he doubt him about something? Was he questioning him because he thought that maybe he _hadn't_ been to Asia and he wouldn't know the answers to the questions? Taking another long look at Sirius, Sasha couldn't decide if he was just being paranoid or if that was actually it.

No matter, Sasha knew his story as well as if it were actually true. He wasn't going to be tripped up by a simple prying.

"It's Japanese Maple." Sasha replied. "It's a tonus wood so magic seeps from it real quick. Its good if you want to cast spells in a hurry."

Whistling, Sirius said. "Bet that's a monster in a duel." He seemed to be showing true interest in the wand now, rather than the slight prying he had done before.

"I suppose so, but I've never really duelled so I wouldn't know." It was lie, but Sirius Black didn't need to know that.

"Can't have that. We'll have to try it out some time." He said offhandedly before changing the subject, "Well, this tent won't pitch itself. Let's get on with it."

He wandered to the other side, taking out his own wand. They said the incantations and the marquee went up without a fault.

"Hey!" Sirius said as he came around the corner of the newly erected tent, "Told you it wasn't difficult; you're a natural!"

Sasha smiled and muttered some modest statement.

The chairs were next. Something that wasn't done by magic, funnily enough. Sasha suspected the whole job was an attempt from Sirius to try and get a feel of him. He suspected that the man had been trying to do it since Lily went crazy and proclaimed him to be her son in front of everyone.

It was the gift that kept giving. Thanks Lily. Thanks a whole bunch.

"So Sasha," Sirius said as they carried their fourth load of chairs from a dining room that seemed to have hundreds to the marquee, "Cambodia's a long way for a wand. What made you go there?"

Sasha could have scowled but he didn't. "Oh, I lived there at the time. It was just convenient that the shop was there too." He said airily.

"Yeah? What was Cambodia like?"

The questions were said lightly, but Sasha could hear the intent in them. He pretended not to notice and recited his story. "It was okay. To tell you the truth, we only spent a few months there. We did a lot of travelling, you know."

"So I heard," Sirius agreed, "I wouldn't want the Markova after me, that's for sure."

Sasha gave a watery smile and looked away.

They reached the marquee and arranged the chairs around tables.

The Potters were inviting a lot of people to the celebrations tonight. Loads of James' Auror friends were attending and a handful of Lily's colleagues would be there also. Even more of the Weasleys would appear for the night's festivities and some other people who were supporters of the Light.

"I'd say one or two more rounds and we should have enough." Sirius said, referring to the chairs. Sasha agreed with him, not knowing if they actually would.

On their way to get more chairs, Sirius started to speak again. "So how are you finding it here?" He asked lightly.

"Oh, it's great." Sasha said, making sure to sound enthusiastic. "It's so good of the Potters to let me stay here; especially because it's so packed with everybody as it is."

Sirius grinned, "Yeah, they're pretty good that way. We all go way back, you know. We were in Hogwarts together. James and I were always pulling pranks, along with Remus and Lily—well Lily didn't really join us until later, but we were all friends by the end... I'll tell you; those were the days. Don't take your school life for granted; you'll be out soon enough and being a grown-up is much, much harder."

They entered the dining room. "I'll make sure to do that." Sasha said as he grabbed another stack of chairs. "I'm really enjoying Hogwarts though." He added.

"That's good." Sirius grunted as he lifted a larger stack of chairs into his arms. "That's the way to do it. What are you hoping to do after you graduate?"

"Not sure, really." Sasha lied, "Hagrid said I should look into something with magical creatures. I think I'd like that..."

Sasha would have liked to work with magical creatures. Hagrid had been constantly badgering him to research it. He had said it would be a 'mighty waste' if he didn't at least try. Sasha never knew that Hagrid was a salesman but he had been caught, hook, line and sinker by the half-giant's pitch.

Sasha had bought into the fantasy so thoroughly that it was a disappointment every time he remembered he would not be graduating and getting a job like the rest of them. Despite the notions he made for himself, Sasha knew his cause was not with magical creatures; he was Voldemort's servant. That was his calling and it kept him busy.

"Well, if that's what you're into, then go for it. Can't spend your life being miserable doing something you hate." Sirius said as they arrived in the garden.

It was sound advice, but it didn't help Sasha one bit. Besides, he didn't hate being Voldemort's servant; he was happy to have the opportunity. Even if he couldn't have his passing fancy of caring for creatures, he was more than fulfilled as a servant to the Dark Lord.

"You're right." Sasha said instead of voicing his thoughts. "I guess I never looked at it like that."

Sirius nodded and was visibly pleased with himself.

They returned to the dining room before Sirius spoke again. "Hey kid?" He said from behind Sasha.

Sasha stopped what he was doing and turned to face the other man. He gave a questioning look. By the tone of voice and the fact that he had waited until they were alone, Sasha figured whatever Sirius was going to say, it would be important. He didn't know if it was good or bad yet though, so he prepared for the worst; an outright proclamation of disbelief.

"I just wanted to say that I understand you aren't like them. The Markova, I mean. I know what it's like to have a family who are different to you."

"Okay." Sasha said slowly.

"What I'm trying to say is; you don't have to worry about anyone judging you because your family are Dark. We know you're not like them. I understand what you're going through; my family always supported You-Know-Who and my cousin is Bellatrix Lestrange, his favourite lieutenant. So, I was in a similar situation to you once too. But these are good people and the fact that your family are Markova isn't even thought about."

Sasha knew this wasn't true. He might have been more inclined to believe it had he not heard Sirius' discussion with James Potter about how he could be 'pushed over the edge' due to his lineage. It was nice of him to pretend though, Sasha supposed.

"Thanks Sirius, that really means a lot to me." He replied.

Sasha knew that wasn't true either.

Sirius gave an easy grin and they gathered the next load of chairs, bringing them out to the garden once more. Sasha put the remaining chairs in the vacant areas and went to get some more.

Sasha walked in ahead of Sirius and worked on stacking the few remaining chairs. Sirius stayed at the doorframe, watching for a few moments before slowly doing the same. Noticing this, but saying nothing, Sasha continued the work.

After barely stacking three chairs on top of each other, Sirius straightened up and looked over at Sasha.

"There's something else I've been meaning to say to you." Sirius said quietly.

Sasha stopped, turned and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Yeah?" He said.

"It's about Lily." He explained, clearly uncomfortable.

Relaxing once he realised it wasn't about him, Sasha said, "Oh, okay."

Sirius nodded and swallowed. "Look, I know she kinda freaked out the first day, but she's not a bad person or anything."

"I didn't say that she was." Sasha replied, offended and annoyed that people thought that of him.

"Oh, no, no, I know you didn't. I was just saying..." Sirius said quickly, "It's just I'm sure she didn't give you the best first impression, that's all. She's really not like that at all."

Sasha nodded. "I'm sure she isn't. It wasn't a big deal. I'm sure she had her reasons for what she did. I don't mind."

Sirius nodded a few times, distractedly. "Yeah, it's just, I thought I owed you an explanation, so you could understand where she's coming from."

"That's really not necessary." Sasha replied, neither wanting nor caring to know.

"No." Sirius said, "It is."

Seeing that Sirius was adamant, Sasha crossed his arms and nodded, accepting that he was going to be told whether he wanted to or not.

"Lily and James had a son." He said.

Sasha knew this. He had also known that the boy had died. He didn't know how it happened purely because his informant had not known. Hermione had relayed everything she knew to him and had made him swear not to tell anyone that she told him or that he knew.

He would keep his word to her and play dumb. "Oh..." Sasha said, "But they don't anymore?"

Sasha tried to convey the polite sadness that was expected of him in that situation. It sounded a little strange to his ears but Sirius didn't notice, too intent on whatever was going on within his own head.

"No, he died. It was about sixteen years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, "It's pretty tragic. Lily hasn't been the same since and James tries to put a face on it but you can see he's hurting just as much. It was hard on them as a couple too. They're like a shadow of themselves now."

"What happened?" Sasha asked.

Sirius shook his head but did not reply. Sasha was surprised to find true sadness in Sirius. He was not the child's parent, so why would he be so hung up about it. It was sixteen years ago, after all. That was almost Sasha's entire life. Whatever understanding Sasha gave Lily for her loss, Sirius Black certainly wasn't privy to it. And to think, this was Bellatrix's cousin; they were polar opposites. Sasha preferred Bellatrix, frankly.

"It was stupidity on our part—all of our parts." Was all Sirius said.

Sasha nodded.

"But Lily," Sirius continued, "She never gave up hope that maybe he was still alive."

"Harry?" Sasha asked, though knowing it was the boy.

"Yeah, that was his name... I was his godfather—did you know that?"

Sasha shook his head. "No."

"Well, it's not important anyway. I just wanted to tell you about this so you could understand that Lily isn't exactly herself. I don't know why she suddenly fixated on you, but she really sees Harry in you. She understands that you're not him, she knows that he's dead."

Sasha couldn't have scoffed. That wasn't what Sirius and James had said on Christmas Eve in the study.

"But even still," Sirius continued, "I just wanted you to know that if she acts strange around you, it's not because of anything you did. She's just not quite herself at the moment."

He smiled and being unsure what to say, Sasha said, "Okay, thanks Sirius."

Sirius was quiet for another moment or two before he returned the smile and said, "Well, come on, these chairs won't move themselves."

Sasha resisted the urge to point out that they would if they used magic. Instead he just nodded and picked up the load, moving them outside and arranging them once more.

When that was done, Sasha made to go back in and get more seats.

"I think that's enough chairs, actually." Sirius said with his hands on his hips as he turned around and surveyed the area, "Yes, I'd say that's enough."

"Great. Anything else I can do to help you?" Sasha asked, silently hoping that the answer would be a 'no'.

"Nope, you're free to go. Thanks for the help, Sasha."

"It's not a problem. Anytime." Sasha said with a smile and returned to his friends in the kitchen.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Night fell quickly in England during the winter months and by five o'clock the sky had already turned black. It was cold out and cloudless and the stars were there in their thousands, enjoying the festivities of the New Year's parties across the globe.

Sasha had watched the night fall and settle while he was preparing himself for his appearance at the soiree. He had bought fine robes a few months before leaving for Hogwarts and had had no chance to use them since. He had grabbed them before leaving Voldemort and was planning on using them tonight.

They were simple, cut and tailored expertly but without any fancy details. Just clear lines and structured. They suited him well. They were black and simple and had a stiff collar and long sleeves. It was everything a man needed in dress robes and he wouldn't look out of place with them.

He had stood by the window of his room as he buttoned up his clothes, looking out at the night sky and the bountiful stars. He mused casually about the people that would be coming to the party. Albus Dumbledore was supposed to arrive at some point as well as James and Lily's colleagues. Sasha wondered if there would be anyone famous. He was intrigued to see if there was anyone else of influence that would arrive.

But that was hours ago.

Now, Sasha was standing in the marquee that he himself had helped set up. There had been heating charms put all around the garden so even though there were patches of cold where Sasha could see his breath fog up, he need only move a few paces to be comfortable again.

In all, the affair was a dignified one. Tables and chairs were placed consciously around the marquee and outside. There were enough seats for everyone to have a chair but at the same time there was plenty of space to move around and talk in the small groupings that were common at such events.

The people were dressed appropriately and not too over the top or too casually. They were respectable. The respectable middle-class of the wizarding world. Or at least most of them were. There were a few who were below and some more that were above that but for the most part these people were the everyday middle-of-the-range people who lived in Britain.

Sasha walked into the marquee, eyes searching for one of his friends. Occasionally he caught the eye of someone and gave a smile or a nod and continued on with his lookout. Moving further into the marquee, Sasha moved passed groups of people, onlookers who wondered about the boy in the dark robes. He was unaware of this.

Similarly, Sasha was unaware that Remus Lupin's eyes followed his form as he moved through the marquee.

"Whatcha doing, Moony?" Sirius asked, wandering over to his friend with two glasses in his hands. He offered one to Remus who took it with a nod.

"Just thinking." Remus replied.

Sirius followed the other man's gaze and caught him looking at Sasha. "Doesn't clean up half bad, does he?" Sirius asked.

Remus nodded and gave a distracted grunt.

Sirius frowned. "What's up?"

Looking up at Sirius as if he had just noticed him, Remus blinked. "Oh, nothing, it's nothing..." He trailed off and his eyes returned to Sasha Kamenev.

Sirius sat down. "Why do you keep looking at him?" He asked, sounding suspicious and worried and uncertain of both.

He had to make an effort to shake himself, but when he did, Remus gave a brief smile. "Don't mind me," He said, "I'm being silly. It's just... His scent; it's so familiar."

"His scent?" Sirius asked, incredulous.

Remus looked embarrassed. "Well, yes. You know, what with my... uh, furry problem, I can smell everyone's unique scent clearly."

"And his is bothering you?"

Shaking a head Remus replied, "Not in itself, no. But it's a strange scent. And familiar, so familier... but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Sirius raised a brow. "And what does that mean?"

"Nothing much." Remus admitted, "Everyone's different. It's just been bothering me that I can't place it. I've been catching whiffs of it around the place since we came here; frankly I didn't even realise it was him until today. I wasn't expecting him to be the source. Not with a scent like that anyway..."

Sirius looked at Remus for a moment before scoffing. "You've been working too hard, Moony." He snickered into his hand. "Poor kid'd be mortified if he heard you talking about his smell."

Remus looked embarrassed and he lowered his eyes in response. "I suppose you're right." He said with a humiliated smile.

Patting him on the back, Sirius told Remus not to worry and to just chug back a few glasses. They changed the subject then and started to talk about something else.

As Sasha ventured even further through the crowds, he was spotted by yet another person who was watching him even more intently than Remus.

Lily Potter's eyes shone bright as they trailed after him. She was holding her simple pearl necklace in her hand; picking it up off of her chest with a delicate pinched grasp and putting it back down again. It was unconscious on her part, but it comforted her.

She was wondering how to reach out to her son while he was staying with her and James. She would have to do it privately and she would somehow have to sneak passed James' and Sirius' watchful eyes. They were keeping her from her son. She wouldn't allow that to happen.

It was beyond Lily how James could not see that Sasha Kamenev was none other than her missing son. Couldn't they see his eyes? They had not changed in sixteen years—not much. They had, perhaps, gotten a little world weary but these were times of war and so many people had suffered that effect. Other than that though, she could be looking at the eyes of a one year old infant again.

And he had grown so well. Lily hadn't the privilege to watch him grow, but there he stood before her, grown nonetheless. She was proud. He was handsome and smart and good-tempered and perfect. She had been right when she had studied her child at birth; his eyes were so similar to her's, but the rest of him was all his father.

The dark hair that looked effortlessly stylish, the strong features on a face that was not yet mature enough to fully promote them, the way his lips quirked when he spoke to someone. These were all things from his father. Lily found herself half proud and half hateful at the fact.

She hated the man who had so long ago made her fall in love with him. Even now, after seventeen years his image still haunted her. In times of doubt she sometimes imagined herself with him and not James. Then she remembered what that man had done to her and how much she had suffered.

But it was alright, because her son was here now. He had sought her out—without even knowing it. Despite his father's attempts, her Harry was home.

Lily didn't understand why he believed himself to be called Kamenev or even Markova. She didn't know how that had happened. Perhaps they had adopted him as a child? It seemed to be the only logical reason that she could think of—and it wasn't for lack of thinking of it. All she did was think of him and what she wanted to say to her son.

But they kept her away from Harry.

She couldn't even offer the boy so much as a cup of tea without everyone acting antsy and ready to run over to put a hand on her mouth. They thought she was crazy. But she wasn't. She had never been more sure of anything in her life; Sasha Kamenev was not who he believed he was. He was Harry Potter. He was her son. And even if it was only the barest forms of communication, Lily would contact her son beyond the bounds of what the Order deemed appropriate.

She had originally thought that a heritage potion would be the perfect way to prove her sanity but every time she had tried to make one, she had been scuppered by someone. She wouldn't bother trying to prove herself anymore. What did she care about them anyway? All she wanted was her son. Once she could contact him, who cared what anyone else thought about her?

"The place looks brilliant, don't you think?"

For a brief moment Lily was half-hopeful that she would turn and see the dark hair and dark eyes of the man who had she had not seen for seventeen years. But she did not. Instead, she saw her husband; a man she had known for considerably longer. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Lily looked at James briefly before half-turning away from him, eyes falling on some random people in the crowds. Even though she wanted to watch her son, she did not wish for James to be alerted to that fact. She pursed her lips.

"Don't tell me you're still angry at me, Lily." James said, exasperated. "I'm only doing what's best for us."

Lily lifted her head defiantly. "What's best for us seems to be better for you than me."

"You know that's not true." James whispered harshly, angrily, as he took a step closer to his wife.

Crossing her arms, Lily still refused to even look in the direction of her husband. She didn't speak.

James sighed, losing the fire behind his words, "Lily..." He implored, "Please try and look at this rationally."

Bristling, Lily muttered, "I _am_ looking at this rationally."

She turned on her heel and made to leave James' side. Before she could vanish, James caught her arm and held her in a firm, but gentle grip.

"Lily..." He tried once more.

Lily looked down at the hand on her arm and up at her husband's face. "Let go of me." She commanded, "Or I _will_ scream."

For a few moments James' emotions battled on his face. Lily could see his inner struggle as easily as if he was narrating it himself. Had she been any less angry, she might have felt bad about the pain she was clearly putting her husband through, but she was not and she did not.

Reluctantly, James let go of her. With a flick of her long red hair, Lily turned on her heel and hastily fled the scene, leaving a lost and sorrowful James Potter in her wake.

That was yet another interaction that Sasha was unaware of.

His eyes fell on the people he was trying to find. Hermione was standing by the buffet table and speaking to none other than Albus Dumbledore. He wandered over to the two, a slight smile upturning his lips.

"...And as I far as I know, he was never seen again." Dumbledore finished saying to Hermione as Sasha stepped in beside her.

"Ah, I must wish you a Happy New Year, Sasha." Dumbledore said with a smile and sparkling eyes as he spotted him.

Sasha returned the smile. "Happy New Year to you too, sir." He replied.

Heart beating just a little quicker than before, Sasha met the headmaster's eyes and made sure he conveyed nothing but ease and friendliness despite the nerves he felt.

There was no one higher than Dumbledore. If he could fool the old man then nothing could stop him. This was Voldemort's equal. Sasha felt a wave of jitteriness to be that close and to know the man could probably obliterate him in an instant if he messed up.

"How are you enjoying the holidays, Sasha?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"Oh, they've just been brilliant." Sasha replied brightly, "Everyone's so great here; I almost don't want to leave."

Dumbledore chuckled, "Yes, that can happen, I'm afraid. I myself always find it difficult to leave after I sample Lily's cooking."

Hermione grinned, "If we're not careful, Lily might feed us to the point where we wouldn't be able to fit into the floo."

"I'm half way there, I think." Sasha laughed.

Really he wasn't near it. It would take a lot more than Lily Potter's meals to make him that big. The logical part of him wanted to scoff at the joke and indeed the whole line of conversation. The rational part knew that he shouldn't give in to such urges. So he didn't. He watched Hermione accidently snort at his joke and cover her mouth in surprise and embarrassment. She giggled behind her hand as she tried to compose herself.

"Excuse me." Hermione said between convulsions, "I'll be back in a moment."

Sasha didn't think it was all that funny, but Hermione and Dumbledore were enjoying themselves and he wasn't going to be the odd one out.

"All joking aside," Dumbledore announced then, making Sasha turn back to him, "I am relieved you are fitting in so well into Hogwarts. I can appreciate that it would have been difficult for you to enter a new school so late into your education."

Sasha nodded with a smile. "It was scary at first," He admitted sheepishly," But to be honest, everyone was so great about including me that I didn't feel alone for a second."

Dumbledore beamed. It was clear he had pride in his school and Sasha was sure it was flattering to hear that the students in it were behaving in a way that was complimentary.

"And of course," Sasha continued, "I was kept busy with all the classes. Not to mention getting lost all the time. Honestly, with all those disappearing corridors and secret passageways around the place, I don't know how anyone manages to make it anywhere."

Dumbledore chuckled again. "Oh yes, Hogwarts is indeed full of a great many secrets. More than anyone knows, I imagine. Even _I_ would not presume to know all that is hidden in Hogwarts. For instance, a few years ago while I was on the sixth floor, I, quite urgently, needed to use the loo. I was running around trying to locate a bathroom and I turned around to find one I had never seen before."

By this point in Dumbledore's story, Hermione had returned with Ron and Neville in tow.

"I tried to return to it later," The headmaster continued, "But for the life of me, I couldn't find it. To this day I still haven't rediscovered that place... Oh, hello, Ron, Neville; I didn't see you there for a moment."

"Hello, headmaster." They chimed.

"Well, must be off; unfortunately paper work does not stop to enjoy the festivities. Enjoy the rest of your break. Happy New Year to you all."

"Happy New Year, headmaster." They all said as Dumbledore waved happily and left them, disappearing among the crowds.

The party continued until the countdown for the New Year began and as the clock struck midnight, Fred and George Weasley set off the fireworks they had stockpiled in one great display. Every one watched the fireworks and enjoyed them.

Once the twins lit their last Catherine wheel, everyone returned to the marquee and continued their party. It was well into the early hours of the morning before people started to file out and leave.

A little while after that, Sasha made his way slowly to his room and collapsed on his bed, barely taking the time to undress before falling into a deep sleep.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha hadn't achieved what he had hoped to from the New Year's party. He went in aspiring to pick up some information on the Light's defences or their manoeuvres or something—anything. Instead, he had heard a lot of stories about annual finance reports, funny incidents at the last year's get-together and so much more boring and useless facts.

That was two days ago.

Now, Sasha was standing at a window, looking out at the back garden. It was raining hard, the kind that 'dinged' off of the roof of the house. It went straight down and ricocheted off the drenched ground, saturating the ground and creating great puddles of muddy water on the lawn. Everything from the party had been cleared out; the lights were down, the marquee was gone and the chairs had been returned to the dining room.

"Hey, Sasha." Neville said as he entered the room. He was putting on a jacket.

"Hi Neville." Sasha replied, turning from the window.

Neville struggled into his coat and buttoned it up, bringing up the hood over his head. "James asked me to prune some of his homunculi plantae. You can come if you like; I could use a hand."

"Sure." Sasha said, even though he didn't want to. "But I'm really not that good with plants."

He wasn't lying. Herbology was not his thing. He didn't get it. Plants were there, they existed, Sasha understood that, he accepted that, but he didn't have to be in contact with him. Especially not magical plants.

Frisky was the wrong word to describe what they were like around him, but it was probably the closest to being accurate; plants always spit things at him, whether it be venom, spikes or actually spit. They just went for him, or wrapped around him or made some other form of invasive action.

Sasha didn't know why they acted like that but they did it often enough for him to be prepared for when he was in contact with anything that held a hint of green. His skills with plants had not improved over the years, but his reflexes had.

Neville shrugged, "That's okay. It's more for the company than anything else."

"Well, that I can do." Sasha replied with a nod.

They made their way into to the garden and had a mad dash out to the glasshouse at the very end of it. Neville unlocked the door with a key that he produced from his pocket and let himself in. Sasha followed, brushing the moisture off of himself once he entered. He hadn't gone to get a coat so he was left wet when Neville was dry. He ran a hand through his soaking hair, scraping it back and out of his face.

Sasha watched as Neville took off his coat and put it on a workbench; he then went around collecting the equipment he would need for pruning. While he was doing that, Sasha took a look around the glasshouse. It was surprisingly big for people who did not garden. He was amazed at the amount of plants there—and most of them were just normal, non-magical plants.

They suited Sasha more than the magical ones.

As Sasha wandered around the rows of plants, Neville had finished preparing his work space—and Sasha's—and went to retrieve the homunculi plantae.

Sasha had never even heard of the plant before, but Neville seemed to be quite knowledgeable on the subject. He put the pots on the table and when Sasha returned, he pushed one over to Sasha.

"Don't forget to put your gloves on." Neville said as he picked up his clippers.

Sasha studied the plant in front of him. It was a tiny little bulb, no more than a bump in a large pot filled with soil. He looked down at it, unimpressed. "Is that it?" He asked Neville incredulously.

Neville grinned. "That's what they look like when they sleep. You have to wake them up to prune them."

Sasha wasn't all that excited but he watched Neville demonstrate.

Neville moved his gloved fingers under a crease at the middle of the bump and dragged it up out of the soil. The plant became bigger very quickly and it unfurled in Neville's hand into the shape of a humanoid creature. The trunk of it was separated into a body, a head and four arms to which five huge finger-like branches that were ripe with leaves and tiny red fruit.

It squirmed and wriggled and let out little gasps and moans of protest.

"It's like a mandrake." Sasha said.

Neville looked at Sasha with a smile, "A little," He said as he nimbly caught a flailing arm, "But they're not really the same plant at all. Besides, these don't scream like mandrakes—thankfully."

Sasha huffed an amused breath and watched Neville as he straightened out the plant's 'fingers' and swiftly clipped the over-abundant leaves.

"There," He said, "That's all there is to it."

Watching Neville go about his work, Sasha knew it wouldn't be as easy as he claimed it was going to be. Still, Sasha was willing to give it a go, even if he knew he would fail awfully.

He put on his dragon hide gloves and reached under the bulb in the pot.

"Just be careful of the spikes." Neville said, almost as an after thought as the little plant moaned and started lashing out at Sasha.

Sasha jumped back to avoid a sharp looking spike that had appeared between the foliage of the plant's branches. "Thanks, Neville." Sasha muttered as he grabbed the plant's legs, only to start getting attacked by the swinging arms. He gritted his teeth and struggled with the plant under him.

Neville laughed and shook his head as he finished up on his own plant and let it furl back into the soil and return to sleep. He moved onto the next one.

"It can be a little tricky to begin with, but once you get the hand of it, it's not that hard at all." He said.

Sasha 'hummed'. He was doubtful of the verity of Neville's claim.

By the time Sasha completed his first pot, Neville had finished two more. Pushing the exhausted plant away, Sasha said. "I'll leave the rest to you." He took off his gloves and watched Neville do his thing.

"What are these used for?" Sasha asked, "I've never even heard of them before."

Neville nodded, "They're really not something you'd stumble across in this country. They're more often found in the east African countries. But they're the base for a few of the more, uh... sophisticated mood-regulating draughts."

"Sophisticated?"

"They let the user function normally and there's practically no addiction rate. They're expensive, but for long-term use, they're worth it."

Sasha nodded. He wondered why the Potters would need mood-regulating draughts on such a regular basis. He thought to Lily and his question was immediately answered. Perhaps the woman was as high strung as people claimed she was not. He suspected that at the very least, Lily was susceptible to bouts of mania and then later of depression.

The Potters were valued members of the Order of the Phoenix. It wouldn't do for one of them to go off the wall whenever the fancy took her. Things were not as peachy in the Potter household as they would have him believe, it seemed.

Shaking his head slightly, Sasha went back to look at what Neville was doing.

As he watched, he realised how much he had underestimated Neville. The boy was a student who was just about getting by on all of his classes but was excelling at none of them. He wasn't quite failing anything but many subjects were border line. His grandmother constantly sent him letters, criticising him about this.

Having not taken Herbology, Sasha had no idea Neville was so good. Half the time the boy was tripping over things and people and the other half he was talking about Quidditch with Ron. None of these things exactly screamed genius to Sasha, but apparently, plants were Neville's thing.

"You've got a real skill there." Sasha said as Neville dispatched yet another plant.

Neville gave an embarrassed grin. "Yeah," He agreed, "I love herbology. It's the one thing I'm really good at."

"Do you have a garden at home?"

Nodding, Neville said, "Sort of. I only started it in the last few years. To be honest, I never really knew I was into Herbology until I started Hogwarts. After that I realised that it was a sort of calling and I went about starting my own garden."

"It must be hard to keep, what with you being away in school for so long each year."

"Oh it is, but I have house elves to help when I'm not around. I'd like to be more hands on, to be honest, but there's not much I can do about it right now. Once I graduate though, I'm going to be working full time with plants."

Sasha smiled and nodded and continued to watch Neville.

If there was one thing Sasha appreciated in people it was competence. There was nothing more appealing to him than to see a person competent at what they did. It didn't matter what it was, it could be anything from stealing to painting, Sasha didn't care—once they were good. Seeing Neville as he was now, competent and talented, it showed him in a different light.

It made Sasha like him more. Which made it harder for Sasha to do his job.

They'd know that he was working for Voldemort by the time he finished. They'd know he was playing them. He had hoped to find a way around it, but he knew they would figure it out.

Sasha valued loyalty too; it was one thing he demanded in the people that surrounded him. Even though they were technically enemies and at opposite sides of the war, Sasha was still unsettled by what he would have to do.

Despite that, however, his loyalty was and always would be to Voldemort. His sense of duty encompassed everything else. He would do his job.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked suddenly, snapping Sasha out of his thoughts.

Sasha blinked. "Yeah," He said, "I'm fine."

Neville relaxed and went back to clipping the plant. "That's good. You just looked at little sad there for a moment."

Sasha frowned. He hadn't wanted to convey sadness to Neville. He didn't like the fact that he had done so unintentionally.

"I was just thinking." Sasha said. "That's all."

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The rest of the trip passed without much else happening.

They had exhausted the list of things to do in the Potter's household and were left lounging around most of the time wondering what to fill their time with. Most of the other Order members had left by then and so the house had become quiet again.

Sasha had thought he would be plagued by Lily Potter but it seemed she was either on a tight leash or she had a little more restraint than he gave her credit for.

The rest of the Christmas holidays passed without incident.

There was only one interesting thing to happen to him. On the night before he was due to leave for Hogwarts, Sasha went into his room to find a neatly wrapped present on his bed. There was no name to the gift and no message. After thoroughly checking it for any traps or undesired side-effects, Sasha carefully opened it.

There was nothing there. Nothing but a book. He lifted it up and studied the front, spine and the back. His eyes roamed over the title. 'A Brief Study of a Hundred Secret Species". He suspected this was the work of the interfering Lily Potter. Having said that, his curiosity was piqued by the book and he opened it quickly. After flicking through a few hundred pages, the book opened on one by itself. The pages fell to either side of where he was supposed to read.

Sasha stared at the heading. All it said was 'unspecified species'. The page had been marked, the heading underlined. He had read the small entry on this strange species only to find out that it was the same creature that was spoken about in the journal he had read.

Had he been expecting someone to approach him about this, Sasha would have been dearly disappointed. He heard no more about it. No one approached him, no one spoke of a missing book, no one seemed to suspect anything at all. Sasha would have wondered if it had actually even happened only he knew for sure that it did because he had the book in his possession.

His stay at the Potter's mansion had ended.

The Christmas holidays were over and they were on their way to school via the Hogwarts Express. Sasha was sitting quietly in the cabin in the train while his friends talked animatedly about something funny that had happened a few days ago.

Inside, Sasha's head was racing. His thoughts barely had time to form as he excitedly prepared himself for the second term of school and the first steps of his new plan.

Soon he would complete his mission. Soon he would finally take the _Expiscor Intentus_. Soon Voldemort would initiate his final push. Soon the world would feel the Dark Lord's wrath.

Soon.


	11. Chapter 10

_Hi guys! Wh__at with me getting ready for, and being on, holidays I've been a little distracted so I can't remember who I replied to and who I didn't. So I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed!_

_Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter 10<span>_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha sat on his bed, mindlessly turning the small vial of the _Expiscor Intentus _in his hand. He had yet to use it but the time was drawing near. There had been a great many things happening lately. Things that disturbed him, frightened him and intrigued him.

Strange things had been happening since he returned to Hogwarts and as he had no answers for these and no one to confide it, they continued to circulate in his head again and again. It was a constant loop of questions and insecurities.

He had been back at Hogwarts for a month now. Classes had resumed, friendships and rivalries were like they had been before the break. And Sasha was distracted.

He needed to find the Philosopher's Stone soon. He wanted out of this place. He needed to _breathe_. He couldn't remember the last time he had.

It had all started two weeks ago.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

_[Two weeks previous]_

_..._

Sasha had just finished eating breakfast.

He was bored.

As usual, his friends were around him, happily chatting about all of the occurrences over the holidays. Sasha played his part dutifully, nodding and laughing and responding when necessary. He supposed that he must look like the ideal friend; never any trouble, always happy, level-headed and ready to have fun. The rest of Hogwarts seemed to think so. Sasha was surprised to find out that he was quite popular among the student body, and similarly among the staff.

Sasha really was turning into the model student. He hoped Voldemort appreciated what he had done for him. This was turning into a bigger sacrifice than he had imagined.

"Sasha?"

Sasha looked up. "Sorry?" He asked, surprised that he had let his mind wander.

Hermione smiled, "Tired?" She asked empathetically.

He gave a nod. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Just thinking about that potion we had to brew yesterday."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Ron grimaced.

Sasha sometimes felt pity for Ron. The boy wasn't anything special. Certainly not at potions anyway. He had no particular abilities—although he _was_ picked for the Quiddich team—but his worst area had to be potions. Snape almost rejoiced in reminding the Weasley son of this fact. Something which Sasha silently appreciated. Ron could go the most interesting shade of tomato when he was embarrassed. It was fascinating to watch.

"But you did really well, Sasha—even Snape said so." Hermione reminded him, resting her chin on her hand.

She was wrong anyway. He had done adequately—and Snape had said so. It was true that _technically_, apart from one or two minor hitches, Sash had successfully brewed the potion. But he had been hindered by his secret identity.

Sasha understood the way of potions. He knew that if he added a little more of this and a pinch more of that he could have the perfect potion, one that was stronger, better and longer lasting then the others. Voldemort had taught him to do this perfectly. The potion he wanted to make would have been perfect. Yet to do so would be risky.

Severus Snape was a smart man. Surprisingly so. And he was a genius at potions. Voledmort would have been a fool to not use him in teaching Sasha just because he didn't trust him. Although Snape didn't know it, Sasha had been learning from him for years.

He had been given the potion master's notes and was left to figure them out at least once a week. As the time progressed, Sasha learned to recognise Snape's style. The quiet flamboyance of subtle ingredients and careful stirring. Snape had style, but it was in his nature to keep it demure.

Sasha had assimilated some of that style, admiring the ability and skill and wishing to grab a piece of the man's passion. The fact that he had to dumb himself down for Snape's class made him agitated. Despite knowing not to care, the thought rattled around Sasha's mind again and again. Which was why, quite unexpectedly, he had mentioned it to Hermione.

Was he now confiding in his friends? Had he really sunk so low?

Bellatrix would be disgusted and what would Voldemort say? Sasha didn't even want to know...

He repressed a shudder as he looked away—and froze.

His eyes had strayed towards the Slytherin table where a small group of girls were chatting animatedly in a huddle. It was the point over the blond head of one Tracey Davis that caught Sasha's eye.

A man was standing there.

Not a student. A man. Not a professor. A man with black hair and black eyes. Tall and handsome with a gravity around him that drew attention his way immediately. A man that was staring straight at him. A man that no other person seemed to be able to see.

Sasha glanced around to see if that was true. No one was looking, no one noticed him. He looked back to where the man had been standing, curiosity prickling his skin.

Nothing.

He was gone.

Shivers ran up Sasha's spine and he shook helplessly. Who was that man? For some reason he instantly thought to the mysterious person described in Lily Potter's journal. Crazy as she seemed, had there been any truth to her insane ramblings?

Suddenly it seemed more likely.

This led to questions though. What did he want? How did he even get in here? Was Hogwarts not supposed to be protected by the strongest wards? If Voldemort could not even break them then how could this man so easily surpass their best efforts? Did anyone even know he was there?

"Sasha?" Neville asked, "Are you alright?"

There was such sincerity in his voice that Sasha would have mentally scoffed had he not been busy with important things. "Yeah." He said distractedly, suddenly standing up, his eyes scanning for another glimpse of that man, "I forgot something back in my room. I'll meet up with you later."

He didn't wait for a reply as he hastily made his exit, unsure what he was going to do but confident he had to do something. He hurried out of the Great Hall and weaved his way through students in the corridors around. He didn't know where he was going, just where he thought the other man might have gone when he left the hall.

Sasha's head whipped around left and right whenever he came to a junction, he was aware that each turn he made took him either nearer or farther away from that man. He wanted to approach him, ask who and what he was. Demand to know how he got through Hogwarts ward and request that he show Sasha the way.

But Sasha wasn't even sure he was going the right way. He could have been running the exact opposite to the man for all he knew. It wasn't until he felt a familiar shiver that he even knew the man was still there.

He spun around, coming face to face with the man.

"What are you?" He hissed, his eyes narrowing.

The man's face changed, his eyes searching Sasha's own. But he didn't reply. He didn't move.

Sasha's jaw tightened with frustration. "Are you following me?" He grit out.

Again, no reply.

"How did you get past Hogwarts' wards?"

Once more, the man stayed silent. Sasha knew he was beginning to look weak and foolish, demanding answers out of a person who was not giving them. "Tell me." He said as he took out his wand and pointed it at the man.

The man still didn't reply, but he took a step forward. Sasha immediately became agitated by the proximity and nervous of the reasons for it. To counter the man's movement, he took a steady step back, raising his wand slightly higher and more threateningly.

He didn't move forward again, choosing instead to stay his ground while he stared at Sasha with eyes that bore through him. Sasha felt like he was a kid again; weak and vulnerable and at the mercy of someone clearly older and stronger than him.

Suddenly, the man's stance changed from stiffly straight to hunched shoulders and a dark look on his face. His features contorted into something that was half a grimace and half a scowl. Looking truly frustrated, he seemed as if he might start growling at any moment.

Then, the stranger turned back around to Sasha, his face pinched in a way that he couldn't describe. The man took one last glance over in his direction and in an instant he disappeared.

Sasha flinched, looking around for the man to appear once more. He waited there for a long time. The man did not reappear. Sasha suspected the stranger had left Hogwarts; he no longer felt the tell-tale shivers that had initially alerted him to the man's presence.

The energy that had prickled his skin quickly dissipated after the disappearance and the corridor returned to being the normal, boring corridor it was. He was alone once more.

Still, it took a while for Sasha to put away his wand and even longer for him to relax his tense body.

He looked around.

What the hell had just happened?

And why did he feel a like he'd met that man before?

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

_[One week later]_

_..._

After the stranger's initial appearance, Sasha hadn't seen him again. Still, that one glimpse at him was enough to leave Sasha thoroughly distracted. So much so, that he had stopped paying attention to classes and was only giving half an interest in his search for the Philosopher's Stone.

He had taken to wandering through the corridors late at night though; his mind too active to get to sleep. His friends were worried about him, fearing that he might be going through some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder or something.

Sasha sometimes wondered what they thought his past was like. They must have thought it was bad. He was sure he hadn't overplayed his part so their reactions were all due to their overactive imaginings. It wasn't his fault. Either way, he was left to do what he wanted; they all feared for his psychological welfare and what a direct confrontation would bring about. They left him in peace.

That night, Sasha was on his usual wanderings.

He barely even knew where he was or where he was going. His feet just moved, compensating for his busy head. He was frustrated also. Every time he turned a corner in this mission, he seemed to gather more questions and any answers he had became less and less likely to be true. Sasha didn't know why, but he felt that perhaps he was a part of something much bigger than himself. Bigger even than Voldemort's war. It wasn't a welcome feeling.

Turning around a corner, Sasha froze.

He heard footsteps. There was nowhere to hide. The steps were quick and confident, he wouldn't have time to hide without running and by then he would be heard. Sasha sighed. Better to get caught now. How bad could detention really be? The owner of the steps appeared around the corner.

Sasha flinched and stared in shock.

Everything, from the walk to the colour of his eyes, it was all the same.

It was himself. _He_ was walking down the corridor.

Sasha watched as the mirror image of himself travel down the corridor, oblivious to his presence. It wasn't a ghost; the image was slightly transparent, but there were colours there and he didn't float, he walked. What the hell?

As his doppelganger walked past, Sasha reached out his hand to grab his arm. His hand disappeared within the image and then reappeared as the other Sasha moved on, unaffected by his attempts to stop him.

Sasha stared in confusion as the other boy travelled down another corridor.

Quickly snapping himself out of his stupor, Sasha followed his 'ghost' hurriedly, taking long, rapid strides to catch up. He did so with a little effort, pacing behind him about three feet away.

The spectre led him up stairs and corridors until he veered right and lead Sasha to none other than the girl's second floor bathroom. Sasha frowned. Just _what_ was he doing here? He looked around surreptitiously, terrified he was going to be spotted in here. His ghost didn't seem to mind, however, as he walked confidently over to his destination and took out his wand.

He spoke a single word softly, so much so that Sasha only barely caught it. He took a surprised step back when a secret passageway opened loudly and his ghost disappeared through it.

Back in the real, physical world Sasha was standing in the girl's bathroom with no secret passageway in front of him. Shaking his head in disbelief, he took out his wand and copied what he saw his ghost do. Similarly, the secret passageway opened for him.

Sasha, with only a little hesitation, walked through.

What he was led into was a subterranean cavern, all dank and dark and dripping with surplus moisture. Sasha spotted his ghost ahead and jogged to catch up, eager now to see where he was being led. He didn't put his wand away, fearful that this could be a trap, yet too curious to turn his back on the find.

Sasha knew Hogwarts held many secrets; he had spent the last few months trying to find a great many of them. But this was possibly the most interesting one he had stumbled across yet. Sometimes he wondered why Hogwarts needed so many different hidden places, but he supposed a place as old and as drenched in magic as this was bound to have been warped by the power.

They arrived at a door. It was grand and impenetrable by the looks of it. There were snakes engraved on the thick stone and Sasha knew beyond a doubt that they were enchanted. Their purpose, however, was a mystery to Sasha. There were engravings on the door, parseltongue, but Sasha did not speak it and couldn't even begin to comprehend what it meant.

He looked over to his ghost for guidance. The ghost's lips were quirked into a grin, dark amusement on his features.

"_Open"_ He said in a voice that sounded like he was speaking underwater. A ghost version of the door opened, allowing him entrance.

Frowning, Sasha took his ghost's lead and spoke the word, "Open". Again, the door gave way to his command. Sasha's eyes took in every detail as the snakes slithered from their places and granted him access. He would have thought that only a parselmouth would be able to open this door. Yet it yielded to him. Why?

As he stepped through the door, Sasha spied his ghost, standing easily at the end of the chamber having walked up the long walkway in the centre of the room that Sasha was now doing.

Fire lit up on torches on either side of him as he made his way down to where his ghost stood at the small pool in front of a giant statue of an ugly head. Sasha wasn't impressed by the design, but then, he didn't have time to be as another ghost-like figure took his interest. He turned to look at it better.

A giant snake slithered up towards his doppelganger with surprising speed, its long, forked tongue tasting the air around. The ghost version of Sasha didn't seem to be worried. He took a few steps to meet the creature half-way, his hand held out for the thing to taste.

"Basilisk" Sasha muttered upon recognising the species with a little trepidation. His other self seemed acquainted with it though; he smiled and stroked the huge creature's head. Strangely, the basilisk let him.

"_Time's up. With you they'll see what I truly am." _ His ghost said softly to the basilisk, again with the effect of being underwater.

Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the ghost vanished and the basilisk along with it.

Sasha didn't have time to contemplate what he had just seen. His body tensed with a sudden hissing that came from behind. He turned cautiously to see the familiar sight of a basilisk approaching him.

This basilisk was the mirror image of the other one; it was long and thin looking. It was barely an adult. It probably hadn't had a decent meal since it was a hatchling. Still, it was a sight to behold. Sasha copied his ghost and took a few steps forward, holding out his hand—though not with as much confidence.

The basilisk was less friendly than its ghost and Sasha suddenly wondered if perhaps _this_ was the trap. A terrifying notion to be sure. One that Sasha had to dismiss because otherwise it would already be too late for him.

He looked up into the creature's eyes and then looked away, cursing his stupidity. The basilisk could kill him with its gaze, what the hell did he think he was doing? But the urge to raise his gaze was overpowering. Strangely so. And basilisks didn't _have_ to kill people with their look; they _could_ control it. It was only if they considered something a meal or a threat.

Suddenly struck with an idea, Sasha stuffed his free hand into his pocket as he warily watched the basilisk taste his hand. It tickled, but Sasha didn't move. His free hand rummaged around his pocket for sandwich Hermione had stuffed there when he had failed to come down for dinner earlier. He pulled it out of his pocket and with only one hand he loosened the wrapping around it.

Sasha's hand shook slightly as he held it out for the basilisk.

The creature pulled back a bit to regard the offering with a bird-like twitch of its head and an intelligent gaze. It slowly moved its bulky head forward, flicking its prehensile tongue out cautiously.

Then, like the snake it was, it snapped its head forward and the meal was cleanly taken off of his hand. Sasha gasped in relief as he stared at his hand that was mercifully intact.

The basilisk wasn't a full adult. Probably almost there—just on the cusp, but not quite yet. It was perhaps a little skinnier than a growing basilisk should be. But then, Sasha doubted it got much food down here. It probably survived on rats and other straying creatures. He imagined the basilisk as a youngling, wandering into this place on a wet night and making it its nest. Only when it started to grow—and basilisks grew very big very fast—it became too bulky to fit through its entrance. Stuck here, Sasha wondered how many years it had spent in this place.

A nudge to his hand distracted him from his thoughts.

Again, without thinking, he looked up.

The basilisk was staring at him patiently, waiting for him to do _something_. With a frown of thought, Sasha moved his hand and followed his ghost's lead once more, petting the basilisk's vast head.

If basilisks could purr, Sasha was sure it would have been then.

It had closed its eyes, leaning into the touch eagerly, like a dog that wasn't given enough attention. Sasha frowned in confusion. The creature was acting like a tamed animal. Not at all like a vicious beast— not like had he learned they were.

_With you they'll see what I truly am..._

His doppelganger had said that. What did it mean? Why was that sentence resounding in his head, echoing within the confines of his mind.

Sasha looked to the docile creature, tamed by mere touch. This was a wild beast, not some house pet. It was ferocious. Strange and dangerous. Feared. It wasn't some pussycat to play with. Sasha caught a glimpse of a few rows of sharp teeth.

If he truly did have control over this creature it could become quite handy.

But what to do?

He had been shown the path to reach this point but now he was at a fork in the road. Possibilities played in his head and Sasha mindlessly stroked the basilisk as he mused on his options.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha was reading a book in the great hall when Hagrid showed up in front of him. He looked up to see the half-giant half grinning down at him. Unsure as to the reason why, Sasha glanced around.

"Got somethin' to show yeh." Hagrid said quietly, rubbing his hands together and then down on his coat excitedly. "When yeh get a moment, you should drop by my hut."

He left then, leaving Sasha baffled.

Hagrid had taken a liking to him over the months. He noted that Sasha was good with animals and insisted that he look into some sort of job in the area. Problem was, Sasha wasn't going to be graduating any time soon. Still, he agreed that he would do some research. Even though the notion was completely fanciful, Sasha liked to think that he might have had the choice to do something like that if he hadn't been so involved with Voldemort.

But then, if he hadn't been so involved with Voldemort he never would have been introduced to the wizarding world so that was a pointless notion. Sasha sighed and picked up his books, deciding that now was as good a time as any to go down to Hagrid's hut and find out what the half giant was so excited about.

Sasha stood up and left the great hall, travelling out of the main Hogwarts building and onto the lawn that led to Hagrid's hut. He followed the steps down to the small structure with the pumpkins growing outside and arrived at the simple door. He knocked and waited for Hagrid to answer.

It didn't take long for the door to open and Hagrid to appear looking delighted. "Great!" He said as he disappeared for a moment only to come back with a heavy looking bag thrown over his shoulder. "Let's go, then."

He led Sasha into the forbidden forest, deeper then they usually went. "You'll love this." Hagrid told him, "Got her from a Peruvian chap jus' yesterday; a bit grouchy, but I swear I've never seen anythin' like her."

"What is it?" Sasha asked.

Hagrid looked down at him with a grin. "We're almost there."

Dangerous things were always intriguing to Hagrid. He liked any sort of creature, really, but rare and dangerous ones seemed to be his favourite. Considering that Hagrid was positively beaming, Sasha could only imagine the most dangerous of things. He wasn't altogether sure that bode well for him.

They travelled for a very long time, going deeper and deeper into the woods—further in than he should have gone frankly. And had he been a good, rule abiding student, Sasha would not have been this far inside. As it was, however, Sasha thought he might have passed through that way.

Hagrid eventually led him to a small cave. They entered it, Hagrid bending over to fit inside. It was less of a cave than it was a passageway, naturally carved in the indigenous stone. It wasn't a big cave—not in height or length—and they left it after only a minute or two of walking.

When they emerged out into was a small clearing in the forest where the moon clearly shone strong silvery rays down on the ground. The clearing itself was obviously a magical enclosure and the cave was the entrance. Sasha could just about feel the magical energy that was made to contain even the strongest of creatures; the only way out was through the cave and that too was warded substantially. But Sasha didn't spend long on that. Instead, his attention was swiftly demanded by the creature in the centre.

Sasha's breath caught in his chest.

"She's a beauty, ain't she?" Hagrid said.

He didn't even register the noise as words. Sasha's attention was completely on the creature in front of him. It had been prowling like a caged tiger back and forth behind invisible bars in the centre of the enclosure, but it had stopped and focused in on them with a startling intensity.

Sasha took slow, purposeful steps to the edge of the creature's cage.

The creature's dark gold eyes stayed on him and all other stimuli were blotted out as Sasha's attention was commanded by the beast.

He supposed the creature was some sort of feline. Its head looked vaguely like that of a lion's, but the body was much, much bigger. Solid muscle chiselled through the creature's coat, thick, bulky legs and trunk as if it had been on steroids for years. Its fur was a sleek golden colour apart from the long, scraggily Tuscan red hair hanging from under its chin to its stomach and a mane of the same hue running down its neck towards its withers. Stripes ran down the spine and tail and on the front legs, like a tiger's but shorter and only in those areas.

It was about Sasha's size and three times his width. Sasha imagined that it would be a horrific thing to see this creature run towards you. But she was not charging. She was standing behind her bars, mere feet away from Sasha, studying him as intently as he was studying her.

Behind those golden eyes, there was so much wisdom and comprehension that Sasha was certain beyond a doubt this creature was sentient. She was beautiful. The more he looked at her the more he noticed about her.

He could hear the air 'whoosing' from her giant lungs, in and out, forced through natural airways. It reminded him of the sound he heard when he put a seashell next to his ear at the beach. Sasha suddenly got a sense that there was more to this creature than merely what he could see. There was something... _profound_ about her. If he was asked, he might have even said this creature was some deity. There was a sense of goodness and 'right' and strangely enough, kinship, from this being.

He knew that if he closed his eyes, he would feel its presence, understand its intentions, react to its essence. And when he did, he experienced all of those things. And more.

He felt the air hum with a quiet power that may have always been there but was now so amplified that it felt like sound to his ears. Like voiceless whispers. Intent laced the words as if they were trying to contact him, speaking through the creature. Almost as if it was the planet's voice using this being to be heard.

"A ngen," Hagrid said, "That's what the Peruvian chap said she was."

Sasha's eyes flickered over to Hagrid. "She's beautiful." He said softly.

Hagrid beamed with pride and joy. "I know, innit?"

"Whatever you paid for her, Hagrid," Sasha muttered, his attention going back to the ngen, "It was a steal."

Hagrid responded to Sasha's statement, but he did not register the words. Sasha was gazing at the ngen once more. Feeling a very slight disturbance in the air, Sasha closed his eyes again and concentrated. Barely audible, mostly out of his earshot, he could just about hear them. Whispers. Not from a human tongue.

"Ain't much information on 'em." Hagrid said suddenly, knocking Sasha out of his concentration, "But they're s'posed to be guardians of nature or sommit like that. Least, that's what the muggles who worshipped 'em used ta think."

Sasha would have scowled at Hagrid for interrupting his thoughts, but the man's interjection had been valid. In truth, Hagrid's statement had struck a chord with Sasha. "Guardian?" He muttered softly.

The ngen's ears twitched and her bulky body adjusted itself in attentiveness. Sasha noted the change but didn't voice it. "Does Dumbledore know you have her?" He asked instead.

Hagrid looked sheepish. "Reckon he'll find out sooner or later." He said.

Unable to resist, Sasha gave a half-grin. "Perhaps it's best to keep this one quiet; it'd be a shame if you had to give her away."

Nodding, Hagrid replied, "Figured that much meself."

Sasha glanced back to the ngen. "Can I go in?" He asked suddenly.

"To the ngen?" Hagrid said, rubbing his arm regretfully, "I dunno, haven't really got much of a feel fer her yet; could be dangerous."

Instinctively, Sasha knew the ngen wouldn't attack him. He didn't know how he knew this, but he was as sure of it as he was his name or age. Still, he didn't want to push Hagrid; if he appeared too eager, it could cause him trouble. And what if she was aggressive to everyone but him? That would draw attention—and that was not something Sasha needed. Especially not now. Not with his plans so close to completion.

"I understand." Sasha said, though it pained him to do so.

They didn't stay much longer. There was so little knowledge about ngens that Hagrid didn't have much to say on the subject. He spent most of their time there trying to think of a suitable name for his newest acquisition. Sasha hadn't been able to help in the process any, but he had faith in Hagrid to conjure up some ludicrous name for the poor creature.

As they went to leave through the cave, Sasha gave one last glance to the ngen. It watched him leave, almost mournfully, and he found himself forcing the steps away from her. Behind him, the ngen gave a melancholy half-growl, half-howl as he left.

He didn't understand why the sound compelled him to look back.

He probably never would.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

_[One week later—present]_

_..._

With his cloak pulled taut for warmth, Sasha stalked through the Forbidden Forest, plan in mind and eager to carry it out. It was all ready now, his thoughts had been completely focused and he had worked tirelessly the last few days to formulate his plan. Everything was set. Everything was ready. Now was the time to change it from hypothetical to reality.

Sasha wasn't bothered by anything as he followed the invisible trails through the forest, one of them leading to the sanctuary of the centaurs. Sasha wasn't exactly ecstatic about having to ask for help—from anyone—but this was necessary. He would not get another chance to do this and it was vital for his own sanity that he did.

He travelled a long time; the centaurs didn't live near the edges of the forest, instead the preferred the safety and the peace of the depths. Not many creatures would mess with a herd of centaurs and certainly not on their own grounds; Sasha was certain that the majority of beings in this forest would not venture that far. The fact that he had not encountered anything else was hint enough for him that he was heading in the right direction.

The forest grew darker. Sasha shivered as the temperature dropped further. His footsteps crunched as he disrupted the frosted ground. There had been a recent cold snap and snow and ice were everywhere the last few days and even here, isolated from the rest of the world, there was evidence of this. Sasha watched his breath come out foggy as he travelled.

"What do you want?"

He turned to face the centaur who had spoken. He was large, even for a centaur; all muscle and height and imposing power that was easily used for intimidation. Sasha had a basic knowledge of centaurs; there were different castes within them. There were scouts and leaders like Nessus and then there were ones like this one. This one was a warrior, a guardian when there were no wars between herds. It was obviously a time of peace now because this centaur was clearly acting as a guardian to their home.

"I need to speak with Nessus." Sasha informed the centaur.

"Nessus doesn't take social visits from humans." The guardian replied coldly.

Sasha sighed; obviously this centaur had not been with the others during their last meeting. "Tell him Sasha Kamenev is here. We've met before."

Still, the guardian resisted. "We don't accept the presence of humans on our lands."

"Then tell him to come out!" Sasha snapped, "I don't have all day; get _moving_."

The centaur regarded Sasha warily. No human blatantly challenged a centaur. Slowly he brought his hand up to his lips and whistled through his fingers. The sound travelled easily and it was soon answered. A scout appeared, looking between Sasha and the guardian with confusion, his eyes resting on the other centaur questioningly.

"Tell Nessus there is a Sasha Kamenev here."

The centaur nodded and ran off, soon returning looking flushed as he clearly sprinted back. Sasha found himself quickly ushered through the centaur's lands and was led straight to the leader of the herd; Nessus.

When they met once more, Nessus looked down at him pointedly. "What we have is a truce, not a friendship, Sasha Kamenev; such a thing does not allow for trespassing on our lands."

Sasha did not reply to Nessus' words. "I need your help." He said instead, hard enough as it was for him to admit it.

Nessus arched a brow. He said nothing.

Sasha sneered resentfully, hating that he was in a position of needing assistance. Nessus seemed to sense that and was enjoying the little power he had over him. "I would rather _not_ be here," Sasha announced softly, "but there's nowhere else I can go."

"Hmm, why should I aid you?"

Sasha shook his head. "I have no reason," He admitted, "other than that I am in need of help and it is in both of our interests to stay in good relations."

Nessus burst into laughter, "You have a dangerous mind, young one, and if I was any less a leader I would agree, but relations work both ways. I now know how this interaction will benefit you... but how will it benefit my people?"

He had nothing to bargain with. There was nothing he had in his power to do that the centaurs would be interested in.

"I have nothing to bargain with." He confessed, dejected.

But Nessus smiled. "You do." He assured Sasha,

Sasha racked his brains. What did he have that the centaurs would want? He didn't have anything—nothing at all. Why then, did Nessus think he did? "What is it?" Sasha wondered aloud.

Nessus snorted. "You don't know your own power, little one," He informed Sasha," If you did, you wouldn't need to ask."

"If I did," Sasha replied, "I wouldn't be here."

Understanding suddenly, Nessus nodded his head. "You're planning on using the _Expiscor Intentus_, are you not?"

"I've waited long enough; I can't do it any longer." Sasha said to the centaur, "What do you want me to do?"

Nessus' jaw tightened, "We have Seen a great deal," He said, "there will be danger in our forests soon. We wish for you to stand with us if the time calls for it."

A frown marred Sasha's features as he thought through the implications of what the centaur was telling him. "You want me to fight for you." He clarified.

"Yes," Nessus replied.

"What kind of danger?"

Nessus' eyes glazed over momentarily as he thought back to what he had Seen, "There will be a great war soon; it will reach all peoples, all creatures. There will be no sanctuary—not even here. I suspect we will need your help if we are to survive."

"Have you Seen that too?"

"Yes."

Sasha mused on Nessus' vision. "There _will_ be a great war," he said eventually, "But I promise it will not come to what you Saw."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm the one that will start that war. _I_ will be the one to control what happens and when. I already gave my word to you that I would not attack you or your people. You don't need to worry."

Even still, Nessus looked doubtful. "That being said, I would feel better if you would do this for us; it will guarantee your safety while you recover from the _Expiscor Intentus_."

Sasha couldn't help himself. He smiled grudgingly. "I promise to fight with you should the war reach your lands."

Nessus beamed with satisfaction. "Then our deal is done; you will find sanctuary here. Take your potion and your recovery time; we will grant you protection in our lands."

Sasha thanked him. "I appreciate this."

"Tell me," Nessus said, "won't you be missed from Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts is about to have a lot more to worry about than the disappearance of one measly student." He said.

"I'm sure I don't know what that means."

"It's better if you don't." Sasha said dismissively, wanting to change the subject and get down to business, "Where can I go? I need somewhere quiet, where I won't be disturbed."

Nessus understood Sasha's itchiness to take the potion. He didn't take insult in the boy's dismissal of him. He nodded, "Follow me."

Sasha did as he was told. His fingers tightened around the bottle of _Expiscor Intentus_ in his pocket. It would feel strangely hollow without the potion once he was done with it. He had gotten into the habit of holding it for comfort or when he was in deep thought.

"You know you could die from this." Nessus warned him.

Sasha _did_ know. He knew all too well. "I know. I won't let that happen."

"Even still, it will take a few days for you to recover."

"I know. I'll be out of your home as soon as I can."

Nessus looked down at him as they walked, "That is not what I meant." He said, "This potion will hurt you more than anything you have ever experienced; you won't just walk away from this as if nothing happened. It will weaken you greatly for quite some time."

"I understand this. I have seen what it does, I have researched everything. I am ready."

While his confidence was admirable, Nessus thought it might have been a little naive. "I hope you are." He muttered softly as he led the way.


	12. Chapter 11

I know this is late, sorry! This chapter needed an awful lot of editing and it took forever to do.

**Warning:** **this chapter is quite dark and there are graphic descriptions of child abuse.** If you don't want to read it then you can skip the first two paragraphs that are written in italics. There's nothing really vital to the story in them and so you won't miss too much if you decide to skip them. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Chapter 11_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha had not been ready. Not at all like he thought he would. It _hurt_. Everything hurt beyond words, beyond any discernable feeling, beyond description. All he knew was the absolute knowledge that he was _alive_. He had had to be, nothing could be this painful in death.

His body screamed and he was sure that he did too—quite a few times. He had felt pain before; he had been stabbed and shot and beaten, hit with more than one _Crucio_ and a whole array of nasty hexes. But this was different. This was real, this was hot and cold and physical and mental and _now_.

He squirmed as he whimpered on the cold floor of the forest that was suddenly too warm and hard. The centaurs had set up a small tent-like structure for him. It gave some much needed privacy. That was something at least—though with this suffering, it was hardly any consolation.

His blood was beginning to boil in his veins. He arched his back off the ground with a howl, his fingers clawing at thin air unconsciously, his body desperately trying to find some sort of relief. Nessus hadn't been wrong; this was the worst experience of his life. The pain managed to drag him both into a hazy fog of confusion and anchor him shockingly into reality.

The only thing that stopped him from letting his aching heart cease beating was the thread of logic that reminded him throughout his experience there was a payoff at the end. He was going to find out what he was. That was why he was doing it. He _would_ endure. He had to. If he didn't they would be right; he would be nothing more than that feeble little freak with pretty eyes he had managed to escape being.

This would test him, try out his mettle. He would finally see if he had destroyed all traces of weakness and vulnerability. This was the last time he would be at the mercy of something else and Sasha could almost feel the sensation of insane giddiness rush up to his throat. He choked out a hysterical laugh as his body convulsed on the ground. Blood fell down his chin. Had he bitten his tongue? Nerves and muscle fibres were so highly strung they could be plucked to make music.

His identity was disintegrating into a blunt image of a creature. But that meant the potion was working; that meant he had survived the first stage. He was a long way to go still though; he would eventually receive his answer, but it would not be until he had earned it. All he had to do was stick through this. Survive and he would be rewarded for doing so. What could be easier?

Soon, he lost all rational thought.

Either he passed out or he had begun to hallucinate.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

_He was seven years old. _

_Sniffling in the corner of the little cubby-hole room he had been thrown into. It was dark, utterly and impenetrably dark. It clung to him, stuck to his skin like dried blood and suffocated him under its weight. _

_His arm hurt. It radiated heat out from his shattered ulna. It was broken; he knew it was because it had happened before. There was a bump on his arm at the point of injury, raised by snapped bone protruding through his skin. The pain travelled up and down his limb, sent him into a fever that had his body shaking with inescapable dry heat. _

_There were rats at his feet, snuck in from the infested fields near the orphanage for some heat and food. They would only find Sasha in here. He wasn't sure if they were nibbling on him or not, his fevered mind was distracted with the swirl of darkness in front of his eyes. He stayed still nonetheless, having enough sense to know not to invite an attack. If he stayed quiet and still, the rats might leave him alone. Rats and adults were more similar than people thought. _

_His heavy, puffy eyes drooped in defeat. Perhaps if he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up? That would be good, easier. He'd like that. His eardrums beat loudly, however, and distracted him with their insistent 'thump'. He was forced to stay conscious for just a little longer._

_Outside of this place, he could hear the creaking of floorboards, the sound disproportionate, louder than usual. Vibrations on the wood ran up to meet him from his place on the floor. The footsteps brought the sounds of voices. The words were cloudy to him; too quiet next to the loudness of their treading feet. It sounded strange, like they were whispering into the morning mist and it clung onto their words greedily, not allowing the noise to travel far._

_Sasha was torn. His innate social programming wanted him to find comfort with these people. He didn't want their voices to disappear; he didn't want to be alone with the rats and spiders in this place. Yet at the same time, people meant danger. It was not rats or spiders that put him in here and broke his arm, but people, perhaps one of those people who had just walked by his door._

_His heart beat faster, the rhythm in his eardrums became louder and quicker. His body ached with the stiff joints of fever and his fingers on his left hand had gone numb. He cradled his arm as he rocked softly back and forward, his brain trying to think logically through the haze and fog inside his mind. Should he call out or stay quiet?_

_By the time he decided to remain mute, the people were already gone anyway. He whimpered in relief. The sound barely past his lips before the darkness consumed it. He was weak from hunger and thirst. He had been here for days. _

_Two days. _

_He had seen the weak light through the cracks under his prison door fade and return for two days. He would die soon. If not today, here in the cubby-hole room with the company of rats, then soon, some other day, from an adult or an attack or one of the other children. He was going to die soon. His days were numbered. He needed to get out of here fast._

_The footsteps suddenly were back._

_Sasha froze in terror._

_No, no, no, no, no—go away! _

_Sasha huddled closer to the wall and put his right hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds that escaped when the person stopped outside his door. He heard the rattle of keys being taken out of a pocket and the horrifying sound of one being shoved into the lock on the door. He skittered closer to the corner, further away from the door. The rats squeaked in surprise at the sudden movement and scattered to the other side of the room fearfully. Sasha clenched his eyes shut._

_The door creaked as it was pushed slowly open. Light flooded a thin line through the centre of the darkness which grew bigger and bigger until Sasha was left only in a grainy grey shadow in the corner of the room. Even behind closed eyelids, the light burned his retinas. It was mercifully dampened by the silhouette of the figure in the doorway. Cracking open a green eye lined with a ring of black, Sasha looked towards the person with terror._

"_I'm sorry." He wheezed, though he had no idea why he should be._

_The figure in the doorway didn't move or reply. What did he want? What could Sasha do to make him go away?_

"_I'm sorry." He repeated, a little louder, his voice scratchy and ragged._

_The figure in the doorway took a slow step forward, his foot banging on the floor ominously as he moved into the room. Panic took Sasha's heart, he gasped in fear._

"_I'm sorry!" He cried._

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

"I'm sorry." Sasha whispered in reality, tears springing into his eyes as he looked around, getting the chance to remind himself where he was before he fell under the effects of the pain again. He convulsed and his hands ripped at his head to stop the burning pain shooting down his body from his brain.

What had that been? That was a memory. Which one?

Those were questions flitting through his head. Questions that he knew the answers to but some other part of him clearly wanted to learn. Like a foreign entity, digging away in his consciousness, asking questions and shuffling through his thoughts. What was that memory? This was what the alien sentience questioned.

Sasha figured it had to be the _Expiscor Intentus_ shuffling through his past to find moments of defining character. Because of that, Sasha did not resist the answers that came quickly to his mind.

That memory had been the same one that he had tried to ignore during the Christmas holidays. Close to the surface, it was the first to be uncovered. And now, because of the potion, Sasha remembered it.

He remembered the day all too clearly. The day when he was released from that prison, the Room. Something dark had taken him then. He had blacked out once the man had approached and raised his meaty fist up high. He had done things that only appeared in flashes of clarity but were otherwise suppressed. Too far hidden for even a potion as potent as the _Expiscor Intentus_ to uncover.

He remembered that day, seeing the orphanage in a pool of blood. Bits of bodies everywhere—exploded, dismembered, destroyed. The whole orphanage dead and him alive, the whole building destroyed and him intact.

He had run that day, left forever. He had been horrified by the damage, sickened by the destruction, terrified by the blackout. But he had also been elated—giddy with relief. The best thing that could ever have happened in his life. He was free. It had been his first breath in a new life. Tied down by nothing but the limitations of his imagination. He had been given another chance, an opportunity to live and thrive and taste freedom.

But that was then. Back when everything had seemed possible and he had been delirious with the demise of his childhood horror.

Now, Sasha wasn't feeling so free.

He gasped ragged breaths of air from a chest cavity that felt ready to collapsed inwards. His throat squeezed in protest of anything passing through its passage and Sasha thrashed his head back, banging it off the hard ground, jarring his thoughts and leaving him dizzy.

A strong feeling of shock and horror shuddered through his body. It wasn't his own. What had he to feel shocked about? That alien presence, that foreign entity; it was the owner of that strange feeling. Sasha didn't know how a potion could feel anything but he was too distracted to wonder.

Why had that happened? What had caused Sasha such pain? Why had he ever been put into the Room?

That wasn't him either. Those questions didn't belong to him. He knew those answers already. He didn't _have_ to answer them, but he did, defenceless against the questions that came from an unknown source. He didn't want to remember the one event that started everything off, but somehow his thoughts were not his own and Sasha's memories were pulled out of their places in the depths of forgetfulness.

It had all started the year before.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"_I heard it's a witch." The boy had said._

"_There's no such thing as witches." A girl had replied._

_That was the reason, the start of everything. The beginning of the end._

_It was that day when everything had turned wrong for Sasha. That day ruined the rest of his life._

_They were in a group. Six or seven children huddled close in the playground, whispering about the old lady that lived on the third floor of the orphanage. The children didn't know much about her; she had lengthy grey hair always scrapped back into a bun and long bony hands with skin so wrinkled it pooled at the joints. Sometimes at night they heard her screaming. Other times her cries echoed around the corridors ominously. Few children had ever seen her and those who had ventured up the last flight of stairs to take a look were met only with a door._

_And her door was always locked from the outside._

"_Sure there is. Isn't that right, Sasha?" Another boy asked._

_Sasha looked up at the attention suddenly being on him and nervously looked away. He shrugged. "I dunno." He said, "Don't think so..."_

"_What do you know anyway?" The first boy asked, annoyed, turning his back to Sasha. "There bloody well is a witch; I even saw her one night. She was wandering around the corridors muttering spells or something."_

"_I heard she uses kids for her evil rituals." A girl with worry in her eyes whispered._

"_Yeah, she eats them to stay alive forever."_

"_That's not true."_

"_Is so, that's what Kev told me."_

"_What does Kev know; he always lies."_

"_Does not."_

"_Does too!"_

_They continued to argue about it but Sasha stopped listening. He knew it wasn't true. That old lady—though strange and confusing—was not a witch. Sasha was privy to information the others just didn't have. She was the mother of the man who ran the orphanage. Technically, she was the owner but because of her 'mental state' and something called 'Alzheimer's', her son took over from her unofficially. _

_Sasha hadn't understood the terms the man had used and he couldn't ask because he had accidently overheard the conversation and the owner would be angry if he knew. From what Sasha could gather, these were things that people shouldn't know about. _

_The owner had been whispering to one of the workers and had laughed at how he was 'optimising the business' and 'making use of the loop holes in the system'. Again, Sasha had no way to understand these things but he learned from that conversation that the more children there were in the orphanage, the more money he would get._

_Sasha didn't know how that could happen. But he supposed it must have made sense because the owner was always telling everyone how smart he was and so it must have been right._

_He had also learned that the owner's mother had been put upstairs and locked in because she wandered away a lot and thought she was someone she wasn't anymore. It kept her safe and more importantly—though Sasha didn't know why—it kept her out of the way._

_Having learnt all those things, Sasha knew the old woman wasn't a witch. He didn't fully understand why, but she was somehow afflicted with something that made her think and act strangely. Sasha wondered if she had a fever because he always thought strange things when he had a fever._

"_She's not a witch." Sasha told the group quietly._

_One of the girls scoffed. "Yeah right. You're just scared."_

"_Am not!" Sasha defended._

"_Then how do you know she's not a witch?" A boy asked._

_This, Sasha couldn't answer. He couldn't say it was from a conversation he had overheard because eavesdropping was bad and the trouble he could get in with the owner just wasn't worth it._

"_I just do." He muttered._

"_Well, if you're not afraid," A girl suggested, "why don't you go up to her room and prove it."_

_The group turned to look at him eagerly. _

_It would be a moment that he would regret for the rest of his life; one that would keep him awake at night wondering what it might have been like if he had acted differently. Later, he would look back and know that he should have said 'no', he should have walked away and taken the taunting and jeering. But at six, the peer pressure had been too much. He didn't walk away. He should have._

"_Okay," Sasha said, "Fine. I'll go."_

_He led the way into the orphanage and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. The last flight was located down a long corridor. The rest of the children stayed at the bottom. He ascended the long flight alone, the wooden stairs creaking under the weight of his feet._

_Soon, Sasha had made it to the top. He looked around over his shoulder, glancing down at the small group of children who were huddled at the bottom, staring up worriedly. He turned back to the door, his heart beating a little faster than normal, despite knowing there was nothing to fear._

_The door was locked anyway, right? It was always locked from the outside, that's what the owner said. He would just turn the handle, find it locked and quickly return to the others. He didn't like being up there; not when he knew how bad it would be if he was caught by the owner._

_Sasha raised his hand and turned the knob, expecting the feel it catch on the lock._

_It didn't._

_The door clicked and Sasha started, startled by the surprise of finding it open. He held his breath and, shivering, he pushed open the door. It, like the stairs, creaked with his influence. Nonetheless, it revealed to him the room behind it._

_The floorboards were bare, but there was an aged Persian rug, faded with time and dust that took some of the coldness from the room. The walls had once been painted white but were now varying shades of grey and yellow with mould and dampness. There was a chestnut locker in the corner with an old fashioned hairbrush on top and in the centre of the room was a grand, queen-sized bed. There was nothing else in there._

_Nothing, but a small, yellowed window and an old lady in a wheelchair parked in front of it. She had been looking out of the glass before the door opened but the sound had turned her head. She was smiling even before she saw who it was._

_Even after she spotted Sasha through squinted eyes, her smile didn't fade._

"_Charlie!" She greeted enthusiastically with a huge toothless grin, "Come over her and give your Auntie Nora a hug."_

_Sasha froze, knowing that he was, in fact, not Charlie. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm not Charlie." He said quietly, in his best, most polite voice._

_The woman—Nora, he presumed—laughed heartily. "Oh Charlie," She said fondly, "You always were such a joker."_

"_But I'm not—"_

"_I heard shouting downstairs. I hope you and John weren't fighting again?" She interrupted._

_Sasha didn't bother trying to correct her this time, knowing that it would be hopeless when the woman was so thoroughly convinced that he was Charlie. Now, who was John?_

_John, he knew, was the name of the owner—though Sasha had never called him that—but there had been no shouting and Sasha had certainly made it a point to not fight with him. Even still, he realised that the woman was not altogether lucid. He decided to play along._

"_No," Sasha said, stepping further into the room and nearer to the old woman."We weren't fighting."_

_Nora smiled, "I'm glad. You two boys are cousins and family needs to stick together."_

"_Yeah, you're right." Sasha replied._

"_It's so good to see you getting along. I know my Johnny loves having you around. You're his best friend, you know."_

_Sasha looked around the room uncomfortably. The other children had told him to bring something back from the room to prove that he had been there. Aside from there being nothing to take, Sasha didn't particularly want to steal anything from the old lady. Besides, they saw him enter the room anyway. What more did they need?_

"_What are you doing here?"Sasha asked, "Why don't you ever come down?"_

_The woman had a vague look on her face as she seemed to ignore Sasha's question. She looked around, starting to frown. Her eyes took on a shine that suggested she was about to cry. She looked lost and afraid._

"_Where am I?" She asked, her voice thick with fear and unshed tears, "What is this place? Who are you? Where's David? I want my husband."_

_Sasha took a step back. "I-I uh... I don't know."_

_She moaned wordlessly then, burying her face in her hands._

_Terrified her moans would alert the owner, Sasha rushed over to her. "Don't cry." He said quickly, "It's okay."_

_The old woman looked up and dabbed her eyes. "Oh, hello dear." She said, sniffing, "Don't mind me, Charlie, I'm not really crying; I was cutting onions a few minutes ago, that's all."_

_Sasha stared. "Okay." He said, "Um, I have to go now..."_

"_Have you seen John, dear? He's such a good boy, you know."_

_Sasha nodded but continued to back away._

"_Oh, hello David."_

_Making the assumption that the woman was addressing him, Sasha continued to back up. In the next moment he hit something with his back and felt a mammoth hand grip his arm. Sasha spun to see the owner, John, standing behind him, a furious snarl on his face. He yanked on Sasha's arm._

"_I'm gonna—"_

"_Oh David, don't be mad at John, he's only a boy." The old lady Nora cautioned worriedly._

_This made the owner stop and look over at his mother. "_I'm_ John, remember? Dad's dead."_

_Nora smiled uncomprehendingly with her hands placed on her lap. "I'll be making supper soon. Make sure Johnny washes his hands would you, dear?"_

_The owner growled. "I'll kill you for this." He whispered threateningly to Sasha as he tugged him back and out of the room. He slammed the door behind them and took only the briefest moments to lock it, taking the key out of his back pocket._

_Sasha got the opportunity to glance down the flight of stairs. The rest of the children were gone. They had probably scattered as soon as the heard the footsteps on the floor, leaving Sasha alone to face the angry owner._

_Having locked the door, the owner returned his attention to Sasha, who gulped and took a fearful step backwards. Once again, he was grabbed and was then dragged down the stairs._

"_I'll make you sorry you did that. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll wish you were never born." The owner threatened as he pulled Sasha down the corridor._

"_I'm sorry." Sasha said._

_The man laughed cruelly, "Not yet, but you will be."_

"_I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to. Please, I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me. It wasn't my fault." Sasha was babbling, tears in his eyes._

_The owner ignored him, his jaw set with determination._

_Sasha continued to babble. He was barely making sense after repeating himself a few times but he continued nonetheless. Even knowing it was hopeless, Sasha searched for some sentence that would save him. He had never been punished by the owner before, but every kid in the orphanage knew what happened to those that were. It was scarier than having a witch in the attic._

_The owner stopped to a halt suddenly. "Alright, if you tell me the truth, the _whole_ truth, about how you unlocked that door, I _might_ let you off your punishment."_

_Sasha shook his head. "I—I didn't. I didn't unlock it; it was open when I went up there."_

Smack!

_Sasha fell to the ground, shocked by the pain and the suddenness of it. He stared, frozen, as pain blossomed up on his cheek from the back hand the owner so casually threw at him._

"_I told you not to lie to me!" John roared in his face. "That door is _never_ unlocked. You opened it! How?"_

_Sasha shook with terror. "I d-don't know." He stuttered, crying._

_John narrowed his eyes. "I know what will loosen your tongue." He said through gritted teeth, reaching down and yanking Sasha to his feet again. _

_Before Sasha could even think of begging again, they had descending down to the first floor and arrived at a door that Sasha would come to know very well over the next year._

"_I'll let you out when you decide to talk." The owner said gruffly before throwing Sasha inside and slamming the door closed. _

_Sasha lay on his hands and knees in the pitch black room, alone and terrified, listening to the sound of the door being locked. He choked back a sob and slowly shuffled to the end of the room where he huddled against the wall._

_Twenty-four hours later, the owner returned and repeated the question. "How did you get the door open?"_

_Once again, Sasha had no answers. He had thought his punishment should be over. He had thought he would be let out then, having suffered enough in the terrible room. But Sasha had no idea how much more the owner could make him suffer._

_The owner thought he was being stubborn. That he had actually opened the door and entered with the intent for...something. Sasha didn't know what. Probably stealing. _

_He had been beaten and left in the Room again, wheezing and gasping through a broken nose and bruised ribs._

_It had continued for another day until finally, the owner realised he was not getting any answers. Sasha had been given some modest medical treatment. There had been no hospitals or doctors, only an assistant that had worked there long enough to know when to hold his tongue._

_He had learned a lesson that day, one that he would never forget._

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

The orphanage had thought him about the cruelty of people and unfairness of life. Sasha quickly learned about the necessity of looking after himself above all other things.

Sasha had recovered from that incident eventually with little more than a healthy dose of terror for the owner. He never ventured back up that last flight of stairs and was hesitant to even spend more time than necessary on the second floor. From that day, Sasha vowed to stay out of trouble.

Unfortunately, it didn't matter.

The owner blamed him if something went wrong from that day on. He had taken a personal vendetta against Sasha and for the next year, Sasha had experienced some of the most sickening punishments he had ever seen—including the things he had been witness to in Voldemort's care.

But Sasha didn't want to think about those. He didn't want to remember those. So why was he trying to? Why was the voice in the back of his head urging him to divulge when he so clearly didn't want to?

It was looking for more, trying to fill in the gaps between his last two memories, but it wouldn't get them. There were some things that Sasha didn't even know anymore. They were too well repressed. Sasha had never tried to regain them but he imagined it would not have been an easy task. The consciousness in the back of his head seemed to agree with him and move on without much of a struggle.

He didn't have time to feel pleased; pain rippled through his body again. He shuddered and groaned.

Soon he fell into confusion once more.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

_Sasha was nine years old and living on the streets._

_Broken beyond words, a shell of a human, a bare outline of a creature; half a being and hardly functioning. A pathetic little bug, scuttling in the waste and rubbish on the fringes of society, trying to survive in a disgusting way._

_He was all of those things._

_Until recently anyway._

_Now, although still weak and feeble, Sasha was something else. Something _more_._

_It was so simple, the catalyst to this change. So minor and yet so profound. He had met a man on the street. A man who seemed to bleed darkness and channel evil and was somehow utterly fascinating. A man with blood red eyes._

_He hadn't been easy to look at; something told Sasha to look away almost immediately, as if his eyes instinctively wanted to avoid the sight. He would have too—and thought nothing more of it—but then something deeper, more intuitive, had ordered him to look closer and then he had seen him truly. _

_Sasha didn't know who the man was; he hadn't talked to him, hadn't made any sort of gesture or action. He had just stared, oddly frozen by the moment of a chance eye contact. The man, too, had kept still. They did nothing, they said nothing. Nothing happened. The whole affair should have been _nothing_._

_And yet, it was in that moment everything changed inexorably and irrevocably. _

_A haze cleared in Sasha's head, as if he had been under a spell all his life. As if he had only really felt what it was to live in those few seconds. He had been freed, his personality, his animal had been let loose. _

_It was from that day that he roamed the streets as a predator. _

_That had been almost six months ago._

_He was feared now, not the freak who had huddled pathetically in a corner, waiting to be killed by the adults that controlled him. Now he was stronger, better. There was a fire in his belly, a hunger, an anger. Sasha took a hold of it._

_Refusing to be a victim, he sacrificed the vestiges of his childhood nature and threw away his meekness, suffocated his fear and harnessed his will to survive._

_It got him noticed. It got him in trouble._

_He got into rows, he got into fights and once, he got into a very sticky situation. _

_Sasha had found himself over the dead body of some kid he'd fought with. The blood was on his hands and clothes and all over the ground. He had gotten sick a few times before he could figure out what to do. He learned a few invaluable lessons from that experience; lessons that would later stand to him._

_He had been shaken by the incident and shocked by the act. Somehow, despite it all, he hadn't thought he could kill another person. Granted, the boy had fallen badly and had hit his head on a jagged rock meaning it was less Sasha's doing than it was the rock's, but his actions had led to that moment. He couldn't deny that._

_He wouldn't forget his first kill. It would probably always still haunt him a little, but it got easier to deal with as time went by and trauma really only hung around for as long as someone let it. This was _survival_, after all, not some kid's book where everything would turn out alright in the end._

_Six months had been the time it took to fully accept his new persona, to settle deeply and comfortably into the role of being hard and cold and willing to do whatever it took to live. He was a survivor, he would do anything. He would kill, lie, steal—even betray if he had to._

_People were nothing but tools, pawns for those that were stronger. Sasha would be stronger. He was going to be the strongest kid out there. Then he was going to survive to be the strongest teen, then the strongest adult. People would fear him, bow down to him, die by his hand. He would be invincible._

_And one day, when he was worthy enough, he would find that man again and he would prove that he was strong, that he wasn't just some kid running from men because he had stolen a woman's purse. He would be a killer, a cold, heartless, loyal, killer. And it would be glorious. _

_Until then, though, Sasha would wait. He would get a gang, he would become strong, he would bide his time. This was his era now. The streets would be his. Let them know that he would bring destruction on everything and everyone that stood in his way._

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

Sasha was awake once more. He almost groaned at the zealousness of his nine-year-old self. He had been different back then. Just as broken as before, but broken in a whole other way. It had taken a long time to sort himself out, to realise that he was not willing to betray those close to him for survival's sake—as much as he would have liked to. Just before he had started his gang, Diana had appeared on the scene. He had had more than one chance to leave her to face her fate and save himself. But he did not. That hadn't sat right with him at all.

His sense of loyalty was something he would never be able to remove from his personality.

He had learned other things too; the importance of not using brute force, the merits of having people who were loyal to you. He had learned a great many things and had changed almost completely by the time Voldemort and he had met again four years later.

What nine-year-old knew anything anyway?

Sasha's thought was disrupted as he hissed in pain. It was lessening actually, this pain, but the pressure in his head had built to worrying levels. He had no idea if he would make it out of this with his mind fully intact. In hindsight, he realised that to take the _Expiscor Intentus_ had been much too risky. He had been blinded by his own thirst for knowledge.

A sharp shooting sting surprised him. He snarled and brought his hands to his head. The light around him dimmed. Once more, he lost his grip on reality.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

_This time, it was not a memory that he found himself in. _

_It was a room that he had never seen before; a light baby blue was painted on the walls, a window was covered by cream curtains and a child's cot was in front of it—no baby inside. There was a night light plugged into a socket in the wall. A chest of drawers, half open to show an infant's jumper peeking over the ledge._

_Animals were painted on the wall, dancing over the shade of baby blue. A lion, a giraffe, an antelope, a puppy, a seal and a fox, the sequence repeating itself around the room. All the animals were holding paws or hooves or flippers and every one had big smiles and open faces._

"_This was the first time I saw you..."_

_Sasha spun to find the origin of the voice, his eyes searched the four corners and up to the light shade on the ceiling. There was no one there, as far as he could see. He was in this foreign room alone._

_He strode over to the simple wooden door and tried to open it. Locked. He turned and went to the window. Stuck shut. There wasn't even anything to see past the glass, only darkness, impenetrable and absolute._

_In the distance, faintly, he heard a baby crying._

_Suddenly, Sasha noticed movement; shadows seeped sluggishly into the room through the window. They pooled under the door, bubbled up from under the cot and welled up through the pores in the plush cream carpet. Sasha backed away from them warily, reaching for his wand and not finding it. His lip curled. He watched the shadows resentfully. Thick and viscous, they moved with intelligence and motive._

"_You were so young, yet destined to die..."_

_The voice continued, louder now that the shadows had made their way into the room. They brushed over a table with an open music box. A gentle tune started to play, the tinkling sound creeping ominously around the room as the ballerina in the box turned on her toes._

"_From the very first moment you knew I was not your mother, not the man she lived with. You recognised me straight away," The voice paused for a brief, humourless laugh, "and started crying. You were scared—of course—everyone always is when they come face to face with what they will become. I stood over you, weapon in hand, knowing that I would have to kill you._

"_A pity. Things would be so much easier if I had been able to. I could scarcely do it now, of course. Not like this. Even though I should. Even though your life is against everything we stand for. You should have died that night. But you didn't. And I couldn't be the one to do it. Knowing the possibilities, the potential in you, I let you live. That was wrong of me."_

_Sasha kept his eyes moving around the room. "What are you?" He demanded coldly, trying not to show the vulnerability he felt._

"_What are you?" The voice repeated, "Always 'what'. What are you? What am I? That's all you ever think about. Why must you seek the answer? You have brought attention onto yourself. Attention that you will not welcome. You have sent a great deal of danger your way. It is no one's fault but your own."_

_The shadows pooled in the middle of the room, the steady stream adding to it and building up a structure that was vaguely human like. As it continued, the structure became more and more refined, until Sasha could identify arms and legs, the buttons on a shirt and separate strands of hair. The facial features of this shadow man were still mostly indistinct and they moved strangely, out of time with the voice. _

"_What is this place?" Sasha asked, ignoring the shadow's warning._

_The shadow sighed, "More questions, never quiet, always questioning." He complained, "The _Expiscor Intentus_ will not work on you. Not now, not ever. You have wasted a good potion and two days of your life. You will never learn of your heritage through human means; they do not know of our existence, we are but myths to them."_

"_What?" Sasha replied out shock. It hadn't worked? What had been happening to him then? Was he going to be left with no answers even after everything he had gone through? "How do I discover what I am then?"_

"_You do not." The shadow replied sternly, "Head my words; forget about this, live quietly in the shadows, or do not live at all. Your days are numbered if you continue this. You have created a great imbalance by just being alive. Every action you take brings our existence closer to chaos. We cannot allow that to happen. Do you understand me?"_

"_I won't stop." Sasha said defiantly._

"_You must."_

"_No," Sasha said with a shake of his head, "I can't."_

_The shadow was quiet for a long time, "Then there is only death." He said solemnly, "I will mourn for you..." _

_Sasha watched as the shadows dispersed. The room began to fade, first the music, then the cot, the animals on the blue background, the blue itself, the floor and finally, the little nightlight in the corner. He felt a strange wooziness before he too began to fade away._

_He looked as his hands became transparent and suddenly, his consciousness drifted._

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

Sasha woke up harder than he would have liked. He jumped to a sitting position with a gasp. Taking his time to get air back in his lungs, Sasha's wide eyes looked around the little tent he was in. This was reality. He was alive. He was without pain.

Thank Merlin.

He buried his face in his hands, resisting the urge to let out a sob of relief at having made it through. There was a price he would pay to find out what it was, and the _Expiscor Intentus_ was just over the limit.

_Not that it had worked anyway_, he thought bitterly.

Had it worked, his species should have been etched in the ground. The potion was supposed to find and take defining moments of his life and piece together a picture of what creature he was from that. Those visions were supposed to be the result of the _Expiscor Intentus' _rummaging through his mind. But those visions surely couldn't have been any help.

Out of hopeful curiosity, Sasha looked down at the ground.

With a frown he got to his feet as quickly as his unsteady legs would allow. He studied where he had been.

The ground around him had not been left unmarked, much to his surprise, but he had never seen symbols like the ones that were engraved into the forest floor, as if branded by hot iron. He had never seen such hieroglyphs, but somehow, beyond all logic, he knew the meaning instinctively.

_Turn from the light. Hide in the shadows. You will not know what you truly are._

Sasha shouldn't have known how to read those things—yet he did. Sasha shouldn't have known what the sentence meant—yet he suspected he did. When he was in the secret chamber with the basilisk, his ghost had said something like that.

"_With you they'll see what I truly am."_

Sasha hadn't understood it then and though he felt as if he might be onto something, he was still left with questions unanswered. Still. Even after everything, his questions were left there.

His mind reeled when he thought about it. All that pain and suffering. For nothing?

No. He couldn't take it.

Sasha closed his eyes and attempted to calm the helplessness and frustration that was threatening to drown him from the inside. Before he knew it though, he was moving. His sore feet carried him out of his temporary tent at the edge of the centaur's settlement and he vanished into the dense growth around.

He half-stumbled, half-ran. He had to get away, he needed... something. He didn't know what but he needed it badly.

Pushing off of a tree trunk to gain more speed and to straighten himself out, Sasha continued into the forest. Branches and shrubbery hit and whipped at his skin as he hurried past, too distraught to dodge their outstretching limbs. Besides, what was a little more pain after everything he had gone through for the past two days?

He didn't know how long he fled for. It could have been minutes or hours. He didn't know. The panic simmering beneath his throat was too disconcerting to pay attention to his surroundings. It was a dangerous state to be in when travelling in the Forbidden Forest but Sasha couldn't even consider that as he ran.

Sasha continued until his exhausted body gave out. He tripped over his own feet and fell onto an old tree, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. He crumpled to the forest floor and didn't try to right himself.

He fell to the ground, his side resting heavily on the trunk.

Every way he turned, all he met was dead ends. That was all. Dead ends with more and more questions and never a single answer. He had to know. He _needed_ to know what he was. Just to know. That was all he wanted. A name, a single word to work with.

Sasha _needed_ it. He couldn't stand it anymore. That feeling of being lost only intensified with every passing day. He was alone in this world, watching on the sidelines as he pretended to be like everyone else even though he wasn't. He wasn't normal, wasn't human and he felt it intensely.

He could ignore it when Voldemort was there but where the hell was he now? Sasha was alone in a forest with no idea where to go next. He was lost—in every regard.

Breathing growing rapidly faster, he began to gasp. He couldn't breathe. It was too much. Even after everything he was left alone.

He... just couldn't cope with it.

Sasha tugged at his hair as he felt the emotions overtake his control. He let out a scream of sheer frustration and powerlessness that echoed throughout the forest. Somewhere behind him the trees rustled as a handful of birds took flight, startled by the intrusion. He could hear the flapping of their wings as they rose into the sky and fade away. He shouldn't have been able to hear it so well, so intensely. What the hell was he?

Sasha let out a ragged breath and shook his head, curling his body ever so slightly into itself. He stayed there for a long time, exhausted by both his emotions and his experience with the _Expiscor Intentus_. His eyes burned hot and his throat was scratchy.

It took him a long time to recover to a normal level of emotionality.

He closed his eyes ashamedly. Really, he shouldn't have let his emotions overcome him so easily. What would Voldemort say if he knew? Sasha wouldn't have his master feel displeasure for his servant's actions. He was stronger than that. Sasha knew he was stronger than that. He would rein in his feelings. Sasha vowed they would not get in the way ever again.

Bringing a shaky hand up to his face, Sasha realised that it was damp. He had been crying. Moving quickly, Sasha removed any remaining wetness from his face with both his hands in a rough action. With the evidence of his despair gone, Sasha sighed tiredly and rested his head against the tree trunk.

Despite the temptation, Sasha vowed he would not fall asleep there. Although he was still in the centaur's territories—or at least he assumed he was—this was still the Forbidden Forest and Sasha could not leave himself open to attack. He wasn't ready to move though. So he stayed there, staring into space for a very long time.

He was worn out; these questions would kill him long before the war would.

Taking a deep breath Sasha eventually struggled to his feet.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was moist from the sweat that had accumulated over the past few hours. His throat was sore from screaming, his muscles were screeching at him, informing him quite loudly of the damage he had inflicted.

Yet he _would_ overcome this.

He had to. And it had not completely been a dead end this time, he realised slowly as his brain began to work once more. He was alive, relatively undamaged and nothing really had been lost. He could dwell on this failure and despair, but Sasha had at least learned one thing from the experience; the shadow man in that room knew him.

They had met before. Had that shadow been the same as the man in Hogwarts? He had a niggling suspicion he was. After all, he was the only person Sasha had ever demanded to know 'what' rather than 'who' they were.

Sasha gave a short, laughing huff and allowed a small, tired smile to rise on his lips.

He was, at least, one step closer to his answer. A baby step. But a step nonetheless. And when he thought about it, he can't have been that far off; the shadow claimed he was in danger. He must be close to discovering something important.

Sasha worked out the knots in his muscles for a moment, getting ready to return to the centaurs and once again thank Nessus for his hospitality. After which, he would promptly leave and return to Hogwarts.

It was time to move onto stage two of his plan.


	13. Chapter 12

_Hi guys, as usual, thanks for the reviews. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter 12<span>_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha shivered as he snuck back into Hogwarts.

Nessus had been right; he was weakened greatly by the potion and his whole body shook with exhaustion. Nessus had more knowledge than Sasha gave him credit for and it had been a mistake to ignore the centaur's wisdom. Had he listened, perhaps Sasha would have been saved from a great deal of pain and humiliation.

Upon returning to the centaur's settlement, the centaur king had approached him immediately, having witnessed his flight into the Forbidden Forest's depths. Nessus had sat waiting for Sasha's return, mindful that he should leave the boy alone to sort himself out. After some coaxing, Sasha had told the centaur what happened. Nessus had let out a bellowing laugh once he found that Sasha's attempt to understand his lineage had failed.

Sasha hated Nessus.

It was just as well that Sasha was leaving Hogwarts because he didn't think he could stand to look at the centaur again. For now anyway—at least until his pride was healed.

But none of that was important, not now. Not when he was going to wreak havoc on Hogwarts. It was dark now, not too late but timed perfectly for everyone to be in the Great Hall, preoccupied with dinner. He had purposely waited for this; it wouldn't do for him to be seen sneaking back into the school after he had been missing for two full days.

He crossed the threshold and, stepping inside, he was immediately hit with the change in temperature from the customary freezing Scottish winter night to the nice, balmy constant of the school. Sasha almost dropped in relief, his legs faltering underneath him. He felt beyond exhausted, hollowed by his tiredness. A deep shudder ran through his body as it gave protests at his wakefulness and urged him just to return to the Gryffindor tower and his bed. Just sleep, forget about Voldemort and his mission. Just to rest for the first time in two days.

He shook his head to clear it and walked a little quicker to keep the weariness at bay for just a bit longer. Sasha was mindful, however, that he also had to take his time and travel carefully through the school. Despite his desire to just run through and finish his mission as quickly as possible, he had to remind himself that he could still run into others wandering the corridors. He couldn't be found out, not now.

The stage had been set for this moment. His disappearance was as much for his own gain as it was for the mission's—and to a lesser extent, his fellow students. Sasha wanted people afraid, he wanted them worried and on edge. He wanted them to realise something was about to happen.

It was to give people a chance to get out before everything went bad. A taste of what might happen if they stayed. Sasha wanted to disguise his motives for this but he could think of no excuse. He had only the truth; he didn't want anyone to die unnecessarily. Maybe a few months ago he wouldn't have cared but somehow the thought of any Hogwarts student needlessly lying dead in a pool of blood had him hesitate.

The gesture wouldn't be as an apology because he wasn't sorry that he would be completing his mission and making Voldemort happy. He didn't know what it would be other than just that; a gesture.

Even with his obscure warning, however, Sasha figured it would do no good. He doubted many, if any, students would leave. They would have faith in Dumbledore's ability to protect them from whatever was about to happen, even if they somehow did figure just how serious the whole thing was. After all, where would be safer than Hogwarts? Home to Albus Dumbledore, the Light Lord of England? Poor kids...

Oh well.

Sasha shrugged as he made his way to the second floor girl's bathroom. He entered the room carefully, taking a cautious look around to make sure there was no one there. Word had it that a ghost resided in the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle had died there and so haunted it at her leisure. That was why no one ever used it; the ghost was apparently very annoying.

Myrtle, moaning or not, had yet to appear to Sasha. Hermione said she sometimes left, travelling through the pipes to explore the lake and the creatures that lived there. It would seem that Sasha had been fortunate enough to enter while she had been away last time and this one was no different. Undisturbed, he followed his own movements from the last time.

"Open." He commanded the faucet and was given entry to what he now understood to be the Chamber of Secrets.

Sasha mused on the strangeness of fate. Voldemort, in his never-ending quest for power, had searched the chamber out as a boy, knowing it was his right as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. The Dark Lord mentioned this to Sasha once as a part of a bigger story. But the facts were detailed enough; he had spoken about a secret entrance, a Slytherin's inheritance, a basilisk in the depths of the mysterious chamber. Voldemort was a parselmouth. He had controlled the basilisk and used it for his own means.

Some students had died as a result, Sasha believed, but the snake had been put to surprisingly little use. Sasha couldn't remember why that was, or if Voldemort had even told him.

He walked down the cavern and opened the door to the chamber with as much success, though with as little understanding, as the last time.

It gave way to his command and he strode into the room, travelling quickly down the walkway as the fires burned with his passing. He moved down the room looking for the hiding basilisk. He made it to the unsightly statue of the old man and turned, eyes searching. His face was in a frown. The chamber wasn't that big, and Sasha's entrance hadn't been quiet, so where was the basilisk?

How was a person even supposed call a basilisk to get its attention? Sasha didn't know. Would whistling like with a dog work? Maybe a click of the tongue like with a horse? He had no idea and he suspected it wasn't a question that was often asked. After all, who would want to call a basilisk?

Well, he would.

And despite the insanity of that desire; Sasha was left with the necessity to do it. Only, he didn't think making animal calling sounds was the best option. Even if no one was there to witness it; Sasha could imagine Voldemort one day looking at the memory and spotting him making a myriad of strange noises in the Chamber of Secrets.

Somehow, Sasha didn't like the thought of that and he suspected he would never live it down.

Instead of calling to the basilisk, he picked up a stray pebble and threw it into the small body of stagnant water in front of the statue. The water splashed loudly and rippled outwards and it was with that, Sasha heard the slick sound of a snake's skin sliding across rough ground. He turned to see his very own friendly basilisk. He hoped it was not as sociable to everyone else as it was to him.

Sasha reached up to pet the basilisk's head in a grateful greeting. The basilisk was key to his plans here tonight; it had been from the moment his ghost self had led him here. It was all coming together. This was the final push.

Sasha had to admit; he was feeling happy despite all the terrible things he was going to do; he had almost finished his mission and that was cause for celebration. He had been so worried, so nervous and fearful. Sasha had been so sure that he would be caught. He kept expecting Dumbledore to catch on to his ruse and figure out who he was and what his motives were.

It was like a clock in his head, ticking all the time, faster and faster as the months went by and it became more and more likely that he would discover Sasha's true identity. Sasha knew that if he waited long enough, the man would eventually notice him. It was only a matter of time.

"Time's up." Sasha muttered distractedly, as he thought about how Dumbledore missed out on revealing the real him, "With you they'll see what I truly am."

The words left his mouth almost unconsciously but Sasha froze once he realised what he had just done. "Bloody hell..." He breathed.

How could he have forgotten? Those were the words his 'ghost' had said back when he had first entered the Chamber of Secrets. By saying those words he had... What had he just done? He didn't know what the whole experience was, but whatever this was, it had just come full circle and he had finished it. Now the actions he had witnessed his ghost do, were completed by him.

That ghost, what was it? A prophecy? Had it been showing him the future of what he would do? But then, he never would have found the Chamber of Secrets if it hadn't been for that ghost in the first place. And yet...

And yet he didn't feel as if he had been tricked into the actions he had taken, instead they felt like his own. Unfortunately, this mystery brought back the age old question of what he was. Sasha still didn't know but this was clearly another trait of whatever it was.

He wouldn't think of it. He wasn't going to have a repeat of what happened in the Forbidden Forest and he didn't have time to dwell on anything right now. He didn't know how long he had left until the students and staff started finishing their dinner. He would need to act before then.

He focused back onto the basilisk.

"I'm sure you're hungry," Sasha said eventually, "Let's get you something to eat."

Sasha was sure the basilisk shouldn't understand him, but then, he shouldn't have been able to open the Chamber of Secrets either and the creature certainly did seem to perk up when he mentioned food.

He shivered as he was struck by the fact that he had a basilisk following him like an obedient dog. This was an awful lot of power for someone to have in their hands and unfortunately for Hogwarts, Sasha every intention of abusing it. Hermione, Ron and Neville would be shocked if they knew.

It brought a bitter, humourless smile to Sasha's lips.

As little as he would like to admit it; Sasha had been dreading this time. He was passing the point of no return. Not that there was ever any chance that he wouldn't, but now it was becomming obvious that he would have to betray the people he had spent so much time with. Maybe it wouldn't have bothered him if he hadn't spent the Christmas with them, but as it was Sasha couldn't help but feel a certain amount of guilt at the betrayal.

Ron, Hermione and Neville weren't bad people. Even the Order of the Phoenix weren't bad. There were times that Sasha had despaired at the goodness and their morals but in general, he didn't find them all the hard to stomach. He knew his disappearance would upset them. His treachery would probably infuriate them.

He wondered if his so-called 'mother', Lily Potter, would be so eager to take ownership of him if she knew he stood against her and her friends. How would she react if she learned he was the proud servant of Lord Voldemort? Somehow Sasha didn't think her delusion would stretch that far. He imagined she would deny him then. After all, who would want to think their child had devoted their life to a Dark Lord?

Together, the basilisk and Sasha travelled unobstructed back to the girl's second floor bathroom and then out again. There was no one about and Sasha guessed they would just be about to finish up with dinner. The timing, as it turned out, was perfect.

Moving quickly, Sasha led the basilisk downstairs and took it as far as the corridor to the Great Hall. Being so close to it was risky for him but it was the only way to ensure the basilisk went where he wanted it to go.

Giving one last pat to the creature's neck, Sasha looked up at it. He took out his wand and muttered a few quick spells. Pointing at the door to the Great Hall Sasha said, "Go get 'em."

With the permission given, the basilisk hissed delightedly, its tongue picking up the scent of hundreds of easy prey. With barely a moment taken to coil its body, it sprung off down the corridor at a rapid speed.

Sasha turned and hurried away. He didn't wait for the sound of terrified screams but they caught up with him anyway. He didn't know if the basilisk would survive its meal, but he almost hoped it would. They weren't such bad creatures, basilisks; they just seemed to be a little misunderstood as far as Sasha could see.

The spells Sasha had cast on the basilisk were charms. They would make it stronger, faster, braver and a little more resistant to a few spells. After all it was doing for him; he felt that he owed it to the creature to even the odds against it. Even with all the augmentations, however, Sasha wasn't sure if he'd have all that much time. In fact, with the full teaching staff present for the meal, he reckoned he'd have to hurry it up.

So he did.

The hard part was over. This was the easy bit. He knew exactly what to do next and where he was going. His stay with the Order of the Phoenix, despite his original belief, had been most enlightening. Things had been let slip that Sasha had not understood until he had returned to Hogwarts and had resumed is search for the Philosopher's Stone.

He ran through the corridors as quickly as was safe, ascending the moving staircases rapidly by using a simple spell to control them. Stopping finally, Sasha arrived at a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet. He was on the seventh floor and he knew he was standing in front of the Room of Requirement. He wasn't here by accident—not at all.

Dumbledore, upon arriving at Christmas in the Potter household had mentioned a room that appeared only when someone was in dire need of something. A toilet, apparently, had been the need of the day and the mysterious room conjured up just that. The Room of Requirement was that place. Sasha had been aware of the room, but he had heard about it from Voldemort and did not know that Dumbledore had also been aware. That changed things for Sasha.

He paced past the room three times, thinking about what he needed most, his eyes on the blank wall intently.

He barely finished his third set when the door appeared on the wall.

Sasha took a suspicious glance both ways and then stepped through.

The room he entered into was exactly as he expected it to be like. It was bare, only a few items inside at all; a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, an old elaborately decorated rug on the floor and on that rug, a full length mirror.

Sasha had learned of this mirror, The Mirror of Erised. It was made to show a person's heart's desire. An interesting thought to be sure, but it would not show Sasha what he wanted to see—not tonight. Tonight, it would show him what he _needed_ to see.

He stood in front of the mirror, hoping against hope that he was right. That he hadn't been wrong, too arrogant or preoccupied to see the truth. His heart beat as he appeared in the mirror. He stood there, still, for a long time. His hands were limp by his side, fingers twitching.

Standing there, Sasha could study himself. He looked scared and tired and really, really pale. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep. But it was his iron-will that stopped his body giving out from under him. He closed his eyes for a brief second. Something should be happening now. But nothing had changed. Why not? Why wasn't it working?

The mirror should have revealed something to him; it should have told him where the Philosopher's Stone was, or at least how to go about getting it. He knew the mirror didn't usually go into so much detail but Hagrid had told him that Dumbledore requested it specifically a few years ago. He said the headmaster had charmed it and for a while it had been guarded by a big three-headed dog called fluffy. It still would have been there if not for an unforeseen coronary on the dog's part.

After having heard that, Sasha knew beyond a doubt that the Mirror of Erised held what Sasha was looking for.

He had thought finding it would be the hard part, but the mirror didn't seem to be giving anything up to him. What if it didn't work? What would happen if he couldn't get the Philosopher's Stone? How much danger would he be in? How could he even escape?

Sasha thought of Voldemort, then, and the disappointment his master would feel in him. Voldemort wanted the stone more than anything else in the world. He wanted it for the immortality it would grant him. Sasha wanted to give that to him.

He wanted to make his master happy. That was all. He didn't care about immortality or power. He didn't give a damn about the reward he would get or the status his success would give him. It was just for his master. As far as Sasha saw it; the stone was Voldemort's anyway. He was just returning it to its rightful owner.

But that would only be the case if he could find it. How could he find it?

Sasha growled in frustration at his apparent helplessness, but when he opened his eyes again, he realised that it was no longer his reflection in the mirror. Oh, it was him alright; but while Sasha's face was grim, the person in the mirror was grinning. That was the only discernable difference. Everything else was the same; the clothes, the hair, the eyes, the skin, the posture—everything.

Grinning wider now, his mirror self moved again; his eyes flickering slowly downwards with deliberation. He met Sasha's eyes once more and nodded.

Sasha followed the image's gaze down to his pocket. The mirror image of himself put his hand inside. Sasha copied him, somewhat accustomed to watching images of himself do things he could see no reason for.

He froze when he found something in his pocket that was not there before. His fingers curled around the object and he took it out. Glowing softly, the Philosopher's Stone sat in his hand. This was it. He had it. Giddiness took hold of him for a moment and Sasha beamed a smile at the now empty mirror. He rolled the stone in his hands.

It was over.

How many months had he been skulking around this place playing Voldemort's stupid game? Now, he could hand the stone over and not have to worry about the bloody thing any longer. It was over.

He turned on his heel and left The Room of Requirement.

Now all he had to do was make his exit. This too was planned, though less so than the rest of it. He sprinted to the Headmaster's Tower, all too aware that he was running out of time. The basilisk might not last much longer and Sasha wasn't entirely sure the creature was even going to fight to the death; it could easily have turned tail and fled only moments into the battle. Nothing was certain in this plan. He could only hope for the best and pray it all worked out.

He needed to get into the Headmaster's office in order to escape. There was no other place to floo as far as he knew and there were anti-apparition wards all over the school. That only left the option of leaving in a non-magical way and it would be harder to run out of the Hogwarts grounds by foot—harder and more suspicious. He was, after all, supposed to be dead.

He arrived at the entrance to the Headmaster's office quicker than he expected. He stood outside, confident that he would get in.

Five days ago, he had gleaned the password from an unsuspecting mind. He had felt bad about it then and now, standing outside the office, the guilt rose up once more. Hagrid never saw it coming. He didn't have the magic to protect against a Legilimens and Sasha was a master. He had been so worried about it, terrified that he might not control himself and destroy the half-giant's mind. But he was the only person Sasha could be almost certain of no resistance.

It felt unsporting though, somehow, and Sasha didn't like taking advantage of Hagrid like that. Not when he had been so good to Sasha over the last few months. But it was the safest option for everyone and he had to do what needed to be done.

All he did was wait until he saw Hagrid go up to talk to Dumbledore in his office. Then, later that day, Sasha went to Hagrid and asked to see the ngen again. Sasha and Hagrid had been going to visit the creature on and off together since that very first time Sasha saw it so it hadn't seemed suspicious. They fed it, talked about it and then had left. By that time, Sasha had slipped into Hagrid's distracted mind and had found the password without any fuss, leaving Hagrid none the wiser.

He had also learned that the password was due to change in six day's time. Meaning that today was the last day it would be valid. It was partly the reason why Sasha needed to carry out his plan so soon after he took the _Expiscor Intentus_; he was stuck for time.

The week's password was...

"Sugar Quill." He announced to the gargoyle.

The gargoyle allowed him access and Sasha threw a look over his shoulder before he ascended the stairs, taking two steps at a time. As he entered the office, Sasha threw a freezing charm into the room, stopping all of the portraits from seeing him and knowing he was there. He strode across the office, uninterested in all the little things Dumbledore had collected over the years and stuffed into the room. His bird, too, was missing. That was something Sasha found most convenient. He spotted the fireplace and was about to go over to it when he felt something that made him freeze.

A shockwave ran up his whole body.

He felt power pulsing into the room and calling to him quite suddenly. Insistently, it throbbed in the air, so intensely that it took Sasha a moment to find its origin. The source came from a drawer in the headmaster's desk. He didn't know what it was, the power being too non-descript and raw, but the urge to find out was strong enough for him to take an interest. He stepped forward, his wand ready—just in case.

The drawer was locked, but it could be easily broken with one of Barty Crouch junior's infamous lock breaking spells. And with only a little effort, it was broken.

The drawer opened effortlessly to reveal the last thing Sasha had expected to see.

A wand rested uneasily within its confines; its core crying to be returned to its master. Sasha took a moment to admire the craftsmanship; it was thirteen and a half inches long, made of yew and with a core he instantly recognised as a phoenix feather. Sasha knew who this wand belonged to. He had heard about it before but being so close to it, Sasha could feel the remnants of its master's magical signature. This was Voldemort's wand.

Sasha picked it up.

He frowned. It didn't feel right in his hand; it prickled his skin and left his arm feeling cold and numb. Yet at the same time, it was drawn to him as much as he to it. He would return this to its rightful owner. The good side of him could not condone leaving the wand to rot away in a drawer. He put the wand into his pocket where it cooled the skin on his leg. He shut the drawer and re-locked it.

Sasha strolled over to the fireplace, took some powder from the bag of it at the side and flooed himself away.

_Now_ it was over.

He could finally go home.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The world was transcendent, floating beyond the realms of physicality and identifiability. Air was heavier than water, water lighter than fire. Energy bounced from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, up to—and through—the furniture of a sparsely decorated room.

Paveh Drux sat in the centre of his chambers, on the floor, cross-legged, his eyes closed. He was deep in mediation and had been for the last five days. Before that, he had been meditating for six.

Paveh Drux hated mediation.

He hated the feeling of abstractness, the sense of unobtainability, the vague hollowness in his body and the insignificance of his consciousness.

He hated it; but it was useful, a good way to clear the mind and make contact with a person who did not wish to be got a hold of.

It was sometimes necessary; like with the case of Sasha Kamenev. His son.

The word still sent shivers down his spine, even though he had always known he had one. The shock of fathering a child had never quite left him and now that the boy was asking questions, Paveh felt the panic and fear of a peaceful era about to end.

Ignorant of how much danger he was in, Sasha Kamenev was pursuing answers. He was creating waves. His actions were leading him straight to his demise. Paveh couldn't have that. He did what any father would do; he tried to warn his son.

Physically meeting Sasha was impossible; even if he hadn't been in that school of his, Paveh's absence would be noticed immediately and that would lead the others to his son. That would be as bad as killing Sasha himself.

The only option was through a mental connection, present on only the most basic of levels purely because of their shared species and lineage.

But even then, he shouldn't have been able to contact the boy at all; his mind shields were impressive for one so young. He hadn't come into his power yet, either, so he was still off the radar for the most part. Sasha was as human as he would ever be. Soon he would start to come into his power and then he would become more accessible but until then he was hard to get a hold of.

Still, despite the obstacles against him, Paveh knew he would have to try.

And he did. He tried and tried and tried.

The first time he had successfully appeared to the boy in Hogwarts had been after weeks of trying. It had been intense meditation, days long with no food, water, or rest and it had left him weakened afterwards. Admittedly, Paveh's attempts at contact had been selfish of him—purely so—his visit had been nothing more than to catch a glimpse of his son. He had hoped hat maybe his gut feeling was wrong and his son had not inherited his genes but was instead like his mother.

It took only moments to see that Sasha had not taken after his mother. That much was abundantly clear. There were elements of Lily in him; a touch of her manner, a certain softness around his mouth and those eyes that were so almost hers' but not quite. Despite these similarities, Paveh Drux could see himself in the boy as easily as if he was looking in a mirror to his youth.

Upon catching a glimpse of him, Sasha had not reacted with fear but intrigue, he hadn't fled or stilled but had taken action and followed a person he could not have known. Paveh had tried o not feel curious to know even just a little about his son but he had failed. Meeting him again in the corridor, he longed to know him.

Sasha had demanded answers immediately. He had been fearless and commanding and in control of the situation. Paveh had been amazed to finally see his son up close and animated, he would have stayed there for longer, maybe even have spoken to him, but his meditation had been interrupted and he had had to leave.

Had he raised the boy himself, Paveh would have been proud at the way he had turned out. As it was, he was nervous. Sasha was strong and therefore influential. His people noticed influence in the universe and that was dangerous for Sasha and to a lesser extent, Paveh himself.

The second time he had contacted the boy was to warn him of this. It hadn't exactly gone splendidly. Sasha was stubborn; desiring information that would kill him, even though he had been cautioned. Didn't he _understand_? Didn't he have any idea how bad it could get? But then, who could comprehend his people's way without knowing them first hand?

Had Paveh known what would happen to his son, he could have taken him as a child, brought him up as an apprentice. There would have been no issue there. It would have been acceptable and no one would think twice about it.

But he had not known. He could not have forseen that Lily would misplace her son or that he would be lost by the non-magical humans. Away from any positive influence, the boy had grown into his own person and now was taking sides in a war none of them should be involved in. This was bad. This was dangerous. There was only a matter of time before the others knew about this—if they didn't already.

Sasha was too strong to let live; Paveh had only been able to contact him the second time because he had taken the _Expiscor Intentus_ and effectively ripped any personal defences he had. That sort of mental defence hinted at how advanced the boy had already become. He was a threat to his people now. They would not see him as an unfortunate case, but as an enemy.

Sasha should not have taken the _Expiscor Intentus_; who knew what had been broadcasted out to the nether sphere with his shields down so low? He had left himself so open to attack; Paveh still felt sick thinking about it.

Unexpectedly, the door to Paveh's chambers opened.

Galor Palun walked in, looking stony faced as usual. Paveh sighed and opened his eyes, removing himself from his position on the floor.

Galor was a handsome man, tall and blond with striking blue eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He was slightly on the skinny side, but he held a presence that made him instantly noticeable. He was an esteemed colleague and friend of Paveh; one of his best and oldest. They had been children together.

"You have been meditating a lot these past months." Galor, ever the observant one, noted correctly.

Paveh straightened out his wrinkled clothing, taking unnecessary time and care to do so. Galor and he were close in age but Paveh was still younger. Although he didn't hold any higher status, Paveh was conscious of the respect he should be showing to an elder. "I suppose I have." Paveh answered nonchalantly, walking over to a chair and sitting down.

He motioned for Galor to do the same.

Galor stayed standing. "It wouldn't have anything to do with that Rogue boy, would it?" He asked.

Paveh's insides froze. He knew. Galor knew about Sasha. But how? The boy hadn't even come into his power yet. The only reason Paveh knew was because he was the boy's blood, and blood called to blood, meaning he was sensitive to the happenings of his son. "There is a Rogue?" He asked innocently, "I had not heard word of any such thing."

"Really? You hadn't?" Galor raised a disbelieving brow, crossing his arms and looking authoritative.

Paveh shook his head. "Are you sure of the verity of this claim, Galor? I've heard no word."

Galor's face went hard. "Enough of this game, Paveh." He warned. "The Rogue is your son, is he not?"

"I don't know what you're—"

"Let's try this again; the Rogue _is_ your son, Paveh, I have seen it."

Galor's stare was unforgiving. He looked coldly down at his companion. Paveh closed his eyes in despair. Rogues were killed; too dangerous to be kept around, too old to be trained. What could he do? How could he stop this? Should he even try? He knew it was his duty to rid the world of any Rogue, but this was his son he was talking about, not some randomer.

Galor spoke again, softer this time. "You made a mistake," He said, "You got involved with a human and this is the result. It happens—not often to someone of our status, mind, but occasionally it does. It's not the end of the world. Deal with this now before more find out about your mistakes. This does not have to be a disaster. We can still salvage this. I'm saying this as your friend; deal with it promptly."

Galor made to leave when Paveh's weak voice stopped him. "I can't." He admitted, "I already tried when he was younger. I couldn't then and I could do it even less now. He's my son, Galor; he looks like me, he moves like me, he's... like me. I would be killing a part of myself."

"Your mistake," Galor said with a shrug, "Your problem."

Galor was a good friend, but he was merciless. "He's my son..." Paveh croaked quietly.

"Kill him, make him disappear, train him or stop him. I don't care what you do. But it _is_ your responsibility. You know what they will do to the boy if they catch him. Even your selfishness cannot be blind to that."

Galor Palun turned abruptly then and left the room.

Paveh watched his friend leave with a bang of the door behind him.

Even though Galor was rigid in the face of duty, he would be more understanding then most. He wouldn't tell anyone of his son's existence. Galor gave Paveh the time he needed to deal with it, to find a way out of this mess.

But what could he do?

Galor said he could train him; but they both knew the boy was too old for that. Hiding him wasn't an option either; no one would be ignorant to the boy's presence once he came into his powers. He certainly didn't want to kill him, but what could he do? There wasn't a simple way out of this.

Galur would not tell the others of Sasha Kamenev's existence, but they would know soon enough. He would be coming into his power in the next few months and if he took after Paveh himself in any way, then his turning was going to be big. All of them would feel his awakening.

There would be no hiding him then. They would know where to look and they would find him and they would do worse things to him than Paveh could ever do in killing him.

Paveh buried his face in his hands.

"Lily, forgive me." He whispered.


	14. Chapter 13

_Hi guys, thanks again for all the reviews in the last chapter, I really appreciate them! Enjoy_

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_Chapter 13_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Music drifted out from behind the heavy wooden doors to the grand ballroom. Sasha could just about feel the excitement in the air. Parties were not exactly common in the Dark Lord's home, but that didn't mean they were rare. Occasionally, there would be a get together of all the Death Eaters.

It was as much a social event as it was for business. The soirees were a means for information to be shared quickly and to be denied or backed up by the others. The idea was to accumulate as much, clear, factual knowledge as possible in the shortest space of time. It meant that it was easy to disregard false or pointless information and bring out those who were either untrustworthy or lazy. Everyone was kept on their toes.

Sasha stood in the darkened hall, watching the dim light seep out from behind the imperfections in the doors to the ballroom. The floor under his feet had narrow veins of light on its surface, stretching out towards him. An old grandfather clock ticked somewhere behind him, its incessant rhythm seeming louder in the darkness than usual.

His mask was in his hand. Upon arriving back into the mansion, Sasha had seen the mask waiting for him on a small cherry wood table with a note saying there was an event on in the ballroom. Sasha imagined Voldemort had put it there just in case he arrived as he couldn't have known for sure that Sasha would return to him tonight.

Seeing that most of the Death Eaters still did not know his identity, Sasha supposed he should put it on. He brought the mask up and felt it mould onto his face and fit securely on. He took a moment to check it and make sure that it was on fine.

The mask and he had a strained relationship. Sasha understood the necessity of wearing it but he hated everything about it. He hated the feeling of it on his skin and the sound of his voice when it was distorted by the hard material over his mouth. His voice sounded foreign to his ears when he spoke with it on. Again, it was meant to hide his identity but Sasha disliked it anyway.

Besides the discomfort, Sasha hated the look of it. Voldemort had designed it. It wasn't like a Death Eater's mask. It was just a blank surface that stretched around his face. There were no indents were the eyes should be, or a bump for the nose, no hole for the mouth either. Just a blank slate of a substance that was similar to black marble.

It had been charmed so that he could breathe and see through the thick material, but it didn't work both ways. To anyone he faced, it appeared as if they were staring at a black hole where his visage should be. With his hood up, as it generally was, even his hair wasn't visible, further adding to the effect. Sasha was man enough to admit that it even freaked him out sometimes.

With the mask on, Sasha was nothing. Not a person, a wizard, a follower. He was a faceless creature with no personality or beliefs, only a job to follow his master in all ways. There were whisperings among the ranks that he wasn't even a real person; some thought he might have been a golem or something artificial like that. Others believed he was a demon, summoned by Voldemort and trapped in a physical body now bound to do his bidding.

Only the Inner Circle knew that he was just some kid Voldemort picked up from the streets.

It didn't matter what he was, however, because with the mask on, he became a symbol. He was the Dark Lord's right hand. His wand. He became the perfect image of a servant; utterly devoted to a master that was willing to make the most of that power.

It was the role he played when the mask was on—even when he didn't feel it.

Sasha moved then, going over to the doors and pushing one open only enough for him to slip his body inside and shut it quietly behind him again. Although his entrance was by no means grand, as he walked through the ballroom, the Death Eaters became aware of his presence.

The idle chatter and conversations faded away. They all turned to stare. Underneath his mask, Sasha watched the different expressions on their faces as he moved confidently in a straight line to the throne at the end of the room. Voldemort sat upon it, eagerly awaiting Sasha's arrival.

In an unnecessary show of allegiance, Sasha bowed lowly at the waist as he arrived in front of his master. He counted a few beats until straightening before his master, expecting the Dark Lord to make the first move.

"I presume," Voldemort started, waving his hand airily, "That you would not do something as foolish as return without having completed your mission."

Having his eyes hidden behind the dark, dark mask, Voldemort could not have possibly seen Sasha's eyes narrow with resentment at the statement. He imagined the Dark Lord knew though; he was pretty sure Voldemort's taunting was an attempt to get a rise from him. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why though.

Wordlessly, Sasha took out the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket. He held it in front of, but not over to, Voldemort. If the Dark Lord could play it cool, so could he.

Voldemort's eyes widened, his face showing an unguarded hunger that one rarely saw in public. Sasha watched dispassionately as the man sat forward in his chair and rose to his feet. He took a step forward. Sasha made no move to give it over to him.

"I presume," Sasha said quietly, so no one else would hear, "That you would not do something as foolish as mock the person who has granted you immortality."

Voldemort was no longer in the mood for games. "Give it to me." He commanded with a hiss. "You would dare withhold this from me?"

"You would _dare _doubt my abilities publicly?" Sasha challenged.

Voldemort looked ready to release a cold fury on Sasha. With barely a flick of his wrist, the Dark Lord could have him under a Crucio, writhing and screaming in front of everyone there. It would probably be deserved too. But he did not do that. "You have grown bold from your time in Hogwarts." He said instead, in a frosty tone.

And with that, it suddenly hit Sasha what he was doing. He was playing with fire—for little to no gain. He sighed, the fight going out of him with the realisation of how foolish he was being. He was tetchy today; still suffering from the after effects of the _Expiscor Intentus_. He needed to stop this; it would bring no good and it would just end with him in more pain than he already was.

He dropped his eyes and bowed his head ever so slightly. "Forgive me, my lord," He muttered, "I'm really not myself today."

Sasha relinquished his hold on the stone. "This is not mine to withhold from its true owner." He said as he watched Voldemort greedily clutch the stone in his hands. The man's eyes shone brilliantly, a sinister shade of red.

"Beautiful." The Dark Lord breathed to no one in particular.

Sasha took a step back, keeping his distance from his obsessed master. The stone glowed softly between the gaps of long, pale fingers. It pulsed with energy and magic and life and Sasha could almost hear its call if he concentrated hard enough.

It was not a soothing sound; it twanged of discord, like a melody played with a single wrong note. Sasha frowned as he felt his chest tighten with the thought that this stone wasn't _right_. Oh, it was the Philosopher's Stone for sure; there had been no changes done to it or traps added. It was nothing of that nature which upset him. Rather, it the stone itself that unsettled Sasha.

It felt wrong. It was a turbulent object, one that would disrupt the flow of the world—create an imbalance, so to speak.

_Like you..._

A strange and unfamiliar voice informed him within the depths of his mind. For half a second he felt insulted, but it was right, wasn't it? Hadn't the shadow in that dream told him as much? He was a bringer of chaos, like that stone. He was unnatural, abnormal, an abomination of some kind. He had to be; why else would his own people want to kill him?

But when had he started to think like that? It was strange; almost as if that meeting with the shadow man of his _Expiscor Intentus_ induced vision had opened his mind. As if the words he spoke had triggered something within his brain that clicked in a very minor, but somehow significant way.

He hadn't even considered something as balanced or imbalanced before. The terms were something he barely ever even used himself anyway. And he had certainly never worried about the effects of himself or his actions on a grand scale—at least not one that hadn't involved him directly.

There was a sickening feeling within his stomach when he acknowledged to himself that he was changing. Sasha knew he was. He could feel it inside of him, moving around like a snake curling up to sleep or to spring into action. There was unease at this, discomfort, unhappiness, fear—mostly fear. Merlin, what the hell was he? What was he going to become? The shadow had told him not to ask questions. But why? What could be so bad? And how could he not?

Sasha felt as if he was barely even himself anymore.

"My loyal followers!" Voldemort's booming voice broke Sasha out of his thoughts, "We have all battled admirably. We have fought hard. Soon our ideals will be realised. Celebrate tonight for this is the night that marks the beginning of the End. Dumbledore and his minions will fall. The preparations are over, the war truly begins tomorrow. Remember this as you enjoy the night's festivities. We _will_ be victorious!"

The Death Eater's cheered delightedly, the sound levels in the room increased until they exceeded their previous noise. The party resumed with a hearty ambiance and everyone seemed quite merry. It would probably continue well into the night.

Voldemort watched the scene before him, taking in the jubilant clinking of glasses and animated conversations for a few minutes.

Eventually, he had enough. "Come," Voldemort addressed Sasha, "Let us go somewhere less crowded; I must converse with you face to face."

Sasha nodded and followed Voldemort out of the room via a small side door. No one in the room seemed to notice their exit, excited about the news and heavily involved in whatever conversations they were having.

Lord and servant walked silently.

Sasha watched his master's form in front of him. The Dark Lord was practically glowing with mirth and Sasha was pleased he could elicit that sort of emotion in Voldemort. It made the man seem so different to the views of the public.

According to the masses, Voldemort was a real monster, a horror-story creature brought to life. Not that Sasha was all that surprised; he had seen the Dark Lord do a fair amount of horrific things to a fair amount of horrified people. But he wasn't all that bad... not really. Not completely. Well, barely.

And he had a lot of good qualities too; he was ambitious and powerful and intelligent and...A lot of other, admirable things Sasha couldn't quite think of at that precise moment. He knew for certainty they were there though. He'd probably never be seen rescuing a kitten from a tree but Sasha wasn't going to judge.

They reached the door to Voldemort's office.

The Dark Lord walked through and Sasha followed. He had expected to make his way over to the chair in front of the desk. He was going in that direction anyway, but was stopped by the sudden force of a surprisingly strong hand pushing his sternum so hard that he stumbled back into the wall by the door frame.

It was Sasha's natural instinct to tense up at the sudden assault. He did. But he resisted the urge to start attacking out of self defence. Instead he let Voldemort carry out whatever it was that he had in mind.

The hand that was not trying to crush his sternum into his spine reached up to his face. The fingers snaked around the edge of the mask and with a brutal tug, removed it from Sasha's face. Sasha didn't see where Voldemort threw the mask, but he heard it hit the carpet somewhere at the other side of the study.

He wouldn't dare to look where it might have gone. Sasha wasn't going to do anything while Voldemort was so close to him. He doubted he could tear his eyes away even if he wanted.

Sasha didn't know exactly what was going to happen, but he did know one thing; Voldemort was angry at him.

The Dark Lord moved in closer to Sasha, their bodies only inches from each other. The hand that had taken off his mask had slithered up to his neck by then and was squeezing warningly. Sasha stayed still, unsure of what to expect.

Voldemort shifted his body and moved in even closer.

"You _will_ be punished for your behaviour back in the ballroom." He hissed, " Philosopher's Stone or not, you are _my_ servant. You will act as I desire. I had suspected Hogwarts might be bad for you but I didn't think it would turn you stupid so quickly. If I have to beat intelligence back into you I will."

It wasn't easy to swallow nervously with Voldemort's hand so firm against his throat, but Sasha managed it. He had hoped that maybe the Dark Lord would overlook his slip since he had brought him the Philosopher's Stone, but apparently not. Voldemort was quite forgiving when they were in private, but in public Sasha was expected to act flawlessly.

Although no one had heard his slight defiance, he had still failed Voldemort. He supposed he deserved what was coming to him. He didn't know what he had been thinking though; why didn't he just gave his master the stone and shut him up? Challenging a Dark Lord was on the list of things sane people just didn't do.

Sasha really was out of sorts, it seemed.

There might be something that could lessen his punishment a little though...

Taking a chance, he pushed Voldemort away lightly with a hand to his chest. "I understand and I will accept it when it comes, but first, I have something else to present to you." He said.

Voldemort raised a brow.

It wasn't common for a person to ignore a Dark Lord's promise of pain. In fact, it was more likely that they would beg on their knees for mercy then brush the issue aside. Even Sasha, who had been by his side for years, would not usually do such a foolish thing as brush off an oath of punishment.

Voldemort's expression was hardly readable; just his usual stony blankness. Sasha saw a glimmer of curiosity though.

"Very well." Voldemort said eventually with a somewhat puzzled air to him.

Slowly, the Dark Lord backed away and walked over to his desk, sitting down behind it. He put the Philosopher's Stone on the desk in front of him and motioned for Sasha to elaborate.

"It's... powerful. I'm surprised you haven't already sensed it." He told the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's face tensed in consideration and concentration. "I suspect the stone is disrupting whatever it is that I am supposed to be sensing." He said eventually.

Sasha didn't know if that was true, but he was willing to bite his tongue. It wouldn't help him anyway and if he wanted to get out of trouble then he had better start acting more amicably. Voldemort was only going to take so much from him.

And for all Sasha knew, the Dark Lord could have been right; perhaps the Philosopher's Stone was responsible. Sasha was intensely aware of the wand in his pocket, but that was because it had been buzzing against his leg and sending chills down to the bone. It was an unpleasant feeling that had persistently annoyed him since he picked it up.

Rather than merely telling Voldemort of his find, Sasha reached into his pocket and pulled the wand out, presenting it to its master with both hands.

The wand sang joyfully at its reunion with its rightful owner. It yearned for Voldemort's touch and called to him urgently. Now that his job was finished, the wand completely rejected Sasha's presence. It made its displeasure known by creating such frigid chills that Sasha's fingers were numb in moments.

Voldemort stood up stiffly, surprised by what he saw in Sasha's hands. He seemed to disbelieve the sight. For a long time he merely stood and stared at it.

"It's not going to bite you." Sasha teased lightly as time dragged on.

He hoped to jolt Voldemort out of his daze so the man could finally take the wand from Sasha. The numbing sensation was not exactly a pleasant one and as more time went by, the wand seemed to become more and more agitated with the distance.

Eventually, mercifully, Voldemort reached forward and plucked the wand from his grasp. Sasha lowered his arms gratefully and watched the Dark Lord turn the yew around in his hands, seemingly amazed that he was even holding it.

"Where did you find this?" He asked, still studying it.

"Dumbledore's office. It wasn't heavily guarded; I broke into the drawer easily enough."

This caught Voldemort's attention, "And why were you in Dumbledore's office?" He asked, looking up.

"It was my escape point." He replied with a shrug.

The Dark Lord chuckled, "As little as I would like to admit it at this moment, your work _was_ flawless. I could not have asked for a better result." Voldemort praised with an oddly genuine note in his voice as he ran his hand over the wand one last time.

Sasha nodded, happy to take the compliment after everything. "Thank you."

"You have impressed me with your performance." Voldemort continued, "I knew you would not fail but I did not think you would succeed quite so effortlessly."

Again, Sasha nodded. There had been times when he doubted himself, times when he was certain Dumbledore or the Order or his friends would sense something and would catch him out. But by the end, he hadn't the energy to worry. All he could do was follow the steps of his plan and have faith that they would work.

As much as Sasha was thrilled about the praise, it washed over him somewhat. Even as Voldemort spoke those rare, kind words, all he could think about was finding some way to hurry everything up. He needed to sleep. He was so tired.

"Now, sit." Voldemort said eventually as he returned to his own chair. "I wish to have a full knowledge of your escapades."

Sasha obeyed, his heart falling once he realised he wouldn't be returning to his bed just yet. It took a huge effort to avoid collapsing into the chair. He waited patiently for Voldemort to start talking. The Dark Lord did not do so immediately. When he did choose to speak, Sasha didn't hear the words he thought he would.

"You've been weakened." He observed.

There was a pause.

Sasha wasn't happy to tell Voldemort of his failures in the same breath as his successes, but he knew his master would learn the truth no matter how he felt.

"I read about a potion in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. Rare, old... not something I had ever come across before. It was used centuries ago to identify magical beings and other such creatures. I thought maybe it would work on me. So I collected the ingredients, brewed the potion and consumed it. I was...the result left me in this weakened state."

Voldemort straightened suddenly, genuine anger and indignity flashing through his eyes "You're a fool!" He exclaimed, "You used the _Expiscor Intentus_?"

Sasha was ready to defend himself, he opened his mouth to retort when he realised what the Dark Lord had said.

The implications of Voldemort's words hit Sasha and caused anger to flair up in his stomach, "You knew about the _Expiscor Intentus_ and you didn't tell me?" He accused, sitting higher and leaning forward, his features pinched in irritation.

"I didn't tell you," The Dark Lord replied, "because I knew you would do something stupid like try and use it! That potion is forbidden for a reason; it was used as a method for torture more than identification—it's dangerous. It could have killed you, were you aware of that?"

"Well, it didn't." Sasha countered hotly.

"No, it didn't," Voldemort agreed, "However, that was not a risk I was willing to take. I have not wasted the last four years training you so that you could throw it all away on something as trivial as a potion."

"Trivial?" Sasha breathed in shock and disbelief, "You would call discovering what I am to be 'trivial'?"

"Yes, I would. Your species is not of any importance to me. Gaining the knowledge you so seek does not change our plans in any way. Your peace of mind is none of my concern if the search for it endangers you."

Averting his eyes, Sasha worked on pushing his agitation down. Slowly, he unclenched his jaw. He knew his tetchiness was directly related to the extreme exhaustion he was feeling. It would not do to go starting fights because of it though. He needed to get a handle on himself. He had to somehow stop arguing with his master. He needed his bed more than ever.

As he tried to cool himself down, Voldemort studied Sasha.

He resumed speaking once he saw that Sasha would be more receptive to his words, "I cannot condone what you did; it was foolish, hasty and dangerous for your mission. I am disappointed that you would make such an adolescent decision. Nevertheless, you did and it is done. We cannot change that fact. We can only live with the result. In light of that, tell me then, what did you discover? What are you? I do hope it was worth it."

The subject had come up often when they spoke. What was Sasha? They hadn't known. They had debated and disproved many theories. Sasha had been through books and books on creatures with human-like attributes but none of them fit. The _Expiscor Intentus_ had been the final attempt; the one thing that could change his ignorance into knowledge. Sasha wasn't happy to think that nothing had changed, not after the torture he had gone through.

He sighed. "I still don't know." Sasha said quietly, shifting his eyes to the side and away, "It failed. The _Expiscor Intentus_ didn't work."

Voldemort clicked his tongue. "So even after all that, even surviving the pain, endangering your life and your mission, you have gained nothing? You learned nothing?"

With a shake of his head, Sasha denied the statement, "Not exactly," He said, "The potion itself didn't give me any answers but I was contacted by... one of my kind during the process." The phrase felt awkward on his tongue, but he supposed it was the correct one nonetheless.

"Oh?"

Sasha continued, "He said they would kill me."

He wondered how Voldemort would react to the statement. Sasha waited and watched his face. There was thoughtfulness written all over it. "Kill you. For what reason? What crimes have you committed against them?"

"None. Other than being born, breathing air, living."

"They would kill simply for this?"

Sasha nodded, "That's what he said."

Voldemort 'hummed', rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Are they powerful?"

"I don't know."

"Resourceful?"

Sasha shrugged.

"But we can say for certain at least, that they are hostile."

"I suppose we can."

"Well, if nothing else, we now have one more attribute to add to that list of yours."

Sasha huffed an amused breath. "Sure, if they don't kill me first, I suppose we can knock another few possibilities off the board."

He was glad Voldemort was taking the news well, but Sasha was amazed at the apparent lack of concern. But then, this was Voldemort, after all; the man believed he was a demi-god half the time anyway, and now, with the Philosopher's stone, there would probably be a lot less to worry about.

Eyeing the glowing red stone on the desk, Sasha wasn't sure though. Voldemort had claimed once that if he was to obtain the stone, he would give Sasha the Elixir of Life too, but Sasha had never actually thought they would get possession of it. And he wasn't even sure if he wanted immortality. Or rather, he wasn't sure he wanted immortality from the stone.

There was just something about it that made Sasha feel uneasy. Even by looking at it on the desk there was a slightest amount of queasiness in his stomach. He didn't even want to be in the same room as the thing, it was that distasteful to him.

Sasha looked away from the stone and looked up at Voldemort. "Sorry, what?" He asked, realising that the Dark Lord had said something and was looking at him expectantly.

Voldemort looked mildly agitated. "I asked you how you think we might counter these creatures; you do, after all, have more information on them than I."

"I'm not sure how I'm going to proceed." He admitted after a while. "But I'm not going to run away like he wanted. I'll fight to the death if I have to."

"Tell me exactly what happened." Voldemort said, sitting straighter in his seat.

Closing his eyes, Sasha realised he was too tired to go through it all at that moment. Instead, he concentrated on disassembling the wards around his mind. "Look inside my mind; I won't stop you."

He shuddered involuntarily as he felt Voldemort's consciousness slip through his inactive defences and delve into his memories. It took a lot of effort for Sasha to stay complacently still at the intrusion, the desire to push the mind away was almost compulsive.

He managed to stay motionless and soon the memories came to the forefront of his mind as Voldemort flashed through them. It was better that he knew exactly what happened; there would be less need for long discussion and they could move on quickly from this.

Sasha sat quietly, waiting patiently for the Dark Lord to finish with his thoughts. When he did, Voldemort sat back in his chair and hummed. Sasha watched him silently.

"I can understand your unease." Voldemort said eventually.

Sasha nodded.

"And again, I must say 'Bravo' on your success. That plan truly was a triumph on your part. I particularly enjoyed the part with the basilisk. A clever addition to be sure. But tell me, how is it that you were able to control the creature? You and I both know you are not a parselmouth."

Shaking his head, Sasha said, "You know everything I do; you saw what happened. You saw how I was led to the chamber. It doesn't make any more sense to me than it does to you."

Voldemort accepted his response with a nod, thoughtful. He stayed quiet until a slight quirk rose on his lips. "The basilisk truly was the perfect component. It was almost poetic. Dumbledore should be quaking in his boots about now." He finished gleefully.

Behind his hand, Sasha tried to stifle an involuntary yawn. He failed and Voldemort noticed. Sighing, the Dark Lord said, "You are tired. Get some rest. We will continue this tomorrow."

Pleased at the dismissal but aware that if he didn't ask he would be kept awake, Sasha said, "But what of my punishment?"

Voldemort looked down at the desk. Beside his wand, the Philosopher's Stone sat. He looked back at Sasha who was pale and exhausted looking but otherwise in one piece. He made a decision. "You have done well. And, as you said, you were not yourself. This time, we can forgo the punishment."

Sasha sagged in relief. "Thank you." He said.

"But know this; if you think you will ever get this leniency again, you are sorely mistaken. The next time you mess up, you will wish you were never born. I will not exonerate you twice."

Sasha nodded, stood up and made to leave but stopped as he thought of something. "Not even if I win you this war?" He asked with a quick grin.

Voldemort sighed. "Do that, and perhaps I will be willing to negotiate."

Smiling, Sasha said, "Goodnight, my Lord."

"Goodnight Sasha." Voldemort replied grudgingly with a dismissing wave of his hand.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Hogwarts was silent.

Without noise to fill its halls, chattering students to walk its corridors or industrious professors to fill its classrooms, Hogwarts was an eerie place. Like an old abandoned building, the air hung stale within, a state of hibernation until it was used once more or demolished all together.

It was empty without the people. A shell, a ghost, a facade. In moments of complete disuse, Hogwarts was dead.

Perhaps this would be what would happen should Voldemort ever come to power? Perhaps such a tragedy should be motive enough for people to fight against the Dark Lord? Dumbledore pondered this as he alone moved through the school. He too, would leave the building as soon as he manoeuvred his way through the vast array of corridors.

He had an appointment to keep and could not miss it—even if it meant abandoning his beloved Hogwarts for the duration.

Moving outside, Dumbledore stepped into the brightness of the day. Sunrays overwhelmed his old eyes and he was momentarily blinded by the change in light, but they adjusted quickly and he did not slow.

Walking through the courtyard, Dumbledore did not pay attention to the skies which were a vibrant blue; an unusual occurrence so early in the year. He did not notice the mildness of the day or the fact that there was a tiny wren sitting atop of the wall, chirping merrily along with the good weather.

No, Albus Dumbledore did not notice any of these things. All he saw was that which was laid out before him.

Set up on the lawns in front of the lake was a small stage and a podium. All white. Facing that was what must have been a thousand chairs, lined up in an orderly fashion. They too were white.

The students were all down there. The staff too. There were reporters from every English newspaper—and some from further afield—even though none were invited. Up front sat the parents and guardians of the poor children who had been murdered so heartlessly only days ago.

This was their funeral.

Out for everyone to see were pictures of those thirteen students. There were no bodies at the ceremony because only a few had been found and none had been found whole. It would have been obscene to put such a hideous crime on display for the flashing cameras. And he would not allow that.

More than anything in the whole world, Dumbledore did not want to do this. He wished beyond all measure that he could turn back time and prevent such a crime. Or that he had fought harder, beaten the basilisk quicker—or at least not have let it escape.

He closed his eyes in defeat.

The Forbidden Forest had the beast now. It was probably dead; it had been heavily wounded when he lost its trail and there were plenty of creatures in the forest that would be happy to prey on an injured basilisk. Still, there was always that nagging feeling he had that perhaps it survived and escaped from its punishment.

He couldn't accept that. If he believed that, he had failed the children and their families. He needed to know what had killed his students could do no more damage. It was the nearest thing to feeling vengeful he had ever experienced. It was not a welcome feeling, but neither was the overwhelming grief or loss.

Dumbledore's steps made no sound on the grass as he travelled towards the podium, but somehow everyone seemed to sense his presence and turn towards him. The cameras flashed, the reporters flung needy questions, the students looked up at him for guidance, the staff for orders and the parents for answers.

Certain he looked as grave as he felt, Dumbledore walked by them all and climbed up onto the stage. He stood behind the podium, standing tall, because even in such dire times as these, people needed a strong leader and he was the only Light Lord in the country. He needed to be strong for the ones he cared about and loved.

He spoke to the masses.

"There are no words," He said, "to describe the pain and suffering felt here today. No words to account for what we have lost. How can I do justice to the sheer magnitude of what has happened, of what has been done, by mere words? Some things go beyond our verbal abilities; this is one of those things.

"Each one of these students was special, unique. They were a credit to Hogwarts and we were honoured to have each and every one of them. As headmaster, I have seen a great many people pass through this school. Over the years I have learned to see the beauty in every individual, the brilliance that lies beneath the surface of all students.

"Even though some did not excel academically, each one of them was talented in their own way. They were all beautiful and pure and what happened to them was monstrous. They did not deserve this; they did not provoke it, or expect it. They were innocent in every sense of the word.

"They were not soldiers, not influential people or ministry workers. They were children. Young and full of life. This was the work of a coward, not a terrorist. Only a coward would do what was done. And I vow to not rest until the coward responsible for this abhorrent act is held accountable for what he has done."

Dumbledore stopped then to let the heinousness of the crime sink in. He took a long look around at all the people, starting from the back and working his way up to the front, where the suffering families sat.

He was not surprised by the many tearful faces he saw. The pained expressions and lost looks were something Dumbledore had expected to find.

What he hadn't expected to see was two empty seats in the very first row. The white of the chairs were a shocking contrast to the black robes and dresses worn by everyone else attending. It caught Dumbledore off guard and he barely managed to stop himself flinching. He was aghast to think someone would not arrive for their own child's funeral. Which of those poor, thirteen children had no family here today to commemorate them?

He shook himself out of his shock and continued speaking.

"But this is not a day for vengeance. Today we have gathered here in remembrance. I remember each one of them fondly, but whereas I knew them as a headmaster, their classmates knew them as friends. In light of this, I would like to invite the friends and family up to share their memories or thoughts about their loved ones. Thank you."

He motioned for an assembly of determined students to step up onto the stage and speak. They did. Some of the families did too; all of them giving their gratitude to Dumbledore and sharing funny, sad and sometimes inspiring stories.

There were a few laughs and a great many tears.

It lasted a long time; all the students were eager to be heard and to tell their stories.

Marietta Edgecombe spoke at length about Cho Chang. Ernie Macmillan talked of Halwyn Stump, a fellow Hufflepuff. Vesta Towler cried through her attempt at commemorating her best friend Nigel Wolpert. In Slytherin, Fergus Cowley shared his memories of his duelling partner, Maynard Hatton.

By the end, half of Hogwarts had stood up and announced something about someone. Hermione, Neville and Ron had all spoken about Sasha. They had been surprised when Luna Lovegood had done so as well, airily saying that he may turn up yet.

Hermione had looked like she wanted to pummel Luna for saying something like that. Although Sasha had gone missing two days previous to the attack, it was presumed he had been the first victim of the basilisk.

The very last person to make it up onto the stage went up to speak about Sasha too. Rubeus Hagrid blubbered his way through a sentence and a half before he could continue no longer and had to excuse himself.

Albus Dumbledore liked to think he had a good notion about what went on in his school. Usually, he believed he did, but he hadn't realised just how close Hagrid had grown to Sasha Kamenev. Hagrid had spoken highly about the boy, certainly and he had hinted that he helped Hagrid out sometimes with looking after some of his many creatures. Somehow though, Dumbledore had missed the extent of the fondness between the two.

Looking back over to the two empty chairs in the front, Dumbledore realised then that was the place where Sasha Kamenev's parents were supposed to be sitting. He shook his head, unable to understand the reasoning behind it. Yes, he had been informed of the family's situation, but some things were worth coming out of hiding for and Hogwarts was as safe a place as any.

Standing up, Dumbledore returned to the podium. Everyone else had left the stage and once more it was up to him to speak. As he opened his mouth, he happened to look up towards Hogwarts. There, standing just outside the courtyard was a figure in a black cloak. So far away, Dumbledore couldn't see any defining features but he knew who it was.

He just about caught the nod from the dark figure as it slipped into the castle and out of sight. Dumbledore turned back to the crowd, quickly searching to see if anyone had followed his eye line and caught what he had been looking at. No one had, they were all looking his way, waiting for him to speak. That was good. He was safe.

Dumbledore gave his closing speech. He delivered it eloquently and with the renewed promise that he would do everything in his power to bring closure to the families. When he finished, Dumbledore left the stage and spoke with a few people, every now and then glancing back up to the castle.

Finally, without seeming rude, he slipped away from the crowds and hurried back into the school where he knew the cloaked person would be waiting for him impatiently.


	15. Chapter 14

_**Notice:** This chapter contains sexual content. Due to FFN's rules I have created a livejournal account where you can read just the mature content. If you don't want to read it don't worry, there won't be anything vital to the story in the missing scene. If you do, just go onto my profile and click on the link there. I have marked the part with the sign {Explicit Content} in the story so you know when to switch over._

_As always, thanks for the reviews and I hope you enjoy!_

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><p>...<p>

_Chapter 14_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Hermione was on the bed weeping. Ron was on the couch downstairs, his head in his hands, his eyes staring at the worn carpet between his feet. Neville was sitting quietly beside his mother who had come home from visiting Mr. Longbottom in Saint Mungo's especially to sooth her son.

The mood within the Order of the Phoenix was sombre. They had all met the quiet Kamenev heir during the Christmas holidays and had gotten to like him. Not one of them had escaped feeling some pain.

The fact that he had been killed...

It was too much to bear. They still didn't know who had found the basilisk and used it against a school full of innocent children. They still had no idea about the identity of the thief of the Philosopher's Stone. But there was fear too, because they suspected that meant Voldemort had infiltrated Hogwarts somehow.

Now the stone was lost, over twelve students were dead and Sasha Kamenev was missing, presumed...

Oh, but how could anyone think of that?

Hermione trudged down the stairs, her eyes puffy and red.

They had just been to the ceremony. There weren't bodies for many of the children killed; the ceremony had been their only funeral. Hermione had tried to get in contact with Sasha's parents by sending them an owl. It had been the most horrible experience of her life and although Dumbledore had already sent one, his letter—like hers—had not been answered. Perhaps that was not altogether unusual.

What was strange though, was that they had not turned up for the ceremony. _That_ had almost killed Hermione with grief. How could a parent not show up to their own child's funeral? All she could think about was Sasha, alone and scared, moments before his horrible death and with no one to even commemorate his dying.

Oh Merlin...

Hermione bit her lip and wiped her eyes as she sat down beside Ron on the chair. Ron looked up and gave a watery smile, an attempt to comfort his friend.

Alice Longbottom's doe-like eyes watched the interaction distractedly as she paused in rubbing Neville's back soothingly. "It's okay." She said softly to the other two.

They nodded meekly, not paying too much attention to the words.

They were in the Potter's mansion once more. Hogwarts had closed for the week as a mark of respect for the victims of the attack and had suggested the students leave while they searched more thoroughly for the basilisk. To the side, Dumbledore told them to stay at the Potter's house; it seemed like the best place for some respite and the Order often used the house as their main base. That was why they were there, wallowing in their misery with nothing to do to distract them from the pain.

Lily Potter opened the front door to her house and stepped through. She glanced at the small group of people in her sitting room before gliding past, her eyes hard and her posture that of savage determination.

She carried on her way up the stairs, past her husband's study and into her own little library.

Sasha wasn't dead. She knew he wasn't. Her son was alive. With every fibre of her being she believed this—just as she had believed it years ago. They took him. That must have been it. She had learned a little about the man called Paveh Drux over the years. Not a lot, but then, it was more than anyone else seemed to know.

What she found was troubling.

She still didn't have a name for _what_ Paveh Drux was, but she learned a little about what he and his kind did. They worked in the shadows, manipulating, controlling. They were quiet, unheard of, unseen. But they were there, always there. Every war, every incident, every era. If you looked close enough—and you knew what to look for—there were traces of them everywhere; a man in the back of a famous photograph, a woman's picture in a family portrait. There were mentions of them in letters and other historical documents too.

They were like a plague, but silent, a super virus flitting through time and changing what should happen naturally, turning it into their own reality. They were the ones who walked outside of fate. They were beyond everything and humans, people, were nothing but pawns for their machinations.

Lily Potter knew that she was unlikely to succeed if she outright challenged a creature such as Paveh Drux, but there were other ways to win a fight. Admittedly, Lily wasn't sure what they were. She imagined she would find her answers in two places; in ancient books full of forbidden magic and potentially from an array of pariah witches and wizards, deemed too insane for their genius to be appreciated.

It would mean that she would have to leave for a while. Was she willing to drop everything and go? Without even thinking about it, the answer was yes. What was she leaving behind anyway? Dumbledore's war? James' empty companionship? The wails of sorrow from the young Hermione Granger? No, she would not have any problems leaving this place.

She walked over to her bookcase and took out the charms book that covered the hiding place of her secret journal. She would need that later. She picked it up and put it under her arm as she left, travelling to her bedroom in order to quickly pack a small travelling bag.

James would understand, she decided. He'd know that she needed to do this. Her son was alive. She suspected that perhaps the incident in Hogwarts had some relation to Sasha, though she assumed it was his father that was responsible for the death of so many children. And the disappearance of her own.

She shouldn't have let him go when he was with her during Christmas. If she had any sense at all, she would have brewed another heredity potion and showed everyone the results. Unfortunately he was no longer young enough for her to fight for some sort of custody over him but Lily was sure that he would soon warm to the idea of her being his biological mother.

It had annoyed her that James and the other Order members had made her appear crazy in front of her son. It made Sasha regard her with more caution than she would have liked. There was one good thing though; after spending time with Paveh Drux, Lily would seem like the most down to earth person in the world.

"Sasha..." She tried the name out softly to the empty room.

She still didn't quite like it. Her son's name was Harry, Harry Potter. Not Sasha Kamenev. And _certainly_ not Harry _or_ Sasha Drux. Her son would warm to her. He would see reason and he would be her intelligent little Harry once more. Her lips split into a pleased grin entirely against her will as she neatly placed a spare jumper into her bag.

Her family will be complete again soon.

All she had to do was this one last thing. All she had to do was rescue her son from whatever cesspool he was in and bring him home.

How foolish those children downstairs were; didn't they know that her son would not fall from a pathetic _basilisk_ attack of all things? He was an Evans. That counted for something. Silly children had no idea...

Lily chuckled as she sat down by her small vanity table and wrote a quick note to James, detailing to him that she would be gone for some time. She assured him in her message that she would look after herself and that she would be in no danger. She suggested that James do the same.

When she was finished, she folded up the letter, put it into its envelope and sealed it carefully. With an artistic flourish she wrote her husband's name on the front and placed it attentively on the dressing table.

Having completed her duty, she zipped up her bag, slung it over her shoulder and walked out of the room. She travelled down the stairs and walked by the doorway to the sitting room. On her way to the door she glanced in and saw the children with Alice Longbottom, still drowning in their misery. Hermione looked up as she moved past the door.

Lily had left the house before any of them could register that she was gone again.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

_[__Two days earlier]_

_..._

"We, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, offer our most sincere commiserations on your loss..." Bellatrix Lestrange broke off, cackling hysterically at the letter in her hands.

Sasha gave a delighted grin and lazily reached for the piece of paper in the female Death Eater's clutch and missed. He twisted in his armchair to give another cat-like swipe, chuckling softly when Bellatrix danced away from his reach.

Gazing at her over the back of the armchair he listened dutifully as Bellatrix picked another excerpt to read out to Sasha.

"... He was a good student that we were honoured to have in our halls. I must again give you my greatest sympathies and inform you that we will have a ceremony to commemorate Sasha and the other fallen students. I invite you to attend, but of course, I would be happy to meet with you privately beforehand... Sasha was a popular, well-liked student who always tried his best in class and excelled in working with magical creatures—particularly centaurs and basilisks—"

"It does _not_ say that!" Sasha protested with a snort, "You're making that up."

Bellatrix laughed at his accusation, "I am not!" She replied as if insulted, "It says it right here." She pointed to a paragraph of the Headmaster's flamboyant script.

Sasha squinted in an attempt to read it. He leaned forward and then huffed after a second, swiftly unfurling from the armchair and striding over to Bellatrix. "Gimme a look at that." He said, hand outstretched.

Bellatrix shook her head, smirking as she skipped away. "No, no, no," She sang lyrically, "It's not for you to read; you're supposed to be dead."

"It's _about _me; don't you think I should be entitled to read it?"

Bellatrix shook her head, grinning mischievously, holding the now-crumpled letter close to her chest. She backed away slowly. Sasha's gaze sharpened for a split second before he pounced for the letter. Bellatrix shrieked in playful humour and worked at pushing Sasha away while holding the paper as far away from him as she could manage.

"Now, now children" An amused voice chided, "Play nice."

Both Sasha and Bellatrix, with their game now over, turned to face Voldemort, giddiness dissipating. Sasha strolled contentedly back over to his armchair by the fire and draped himself languidly across it. Bellatrix gave a flamboyant bow at the entrance of their master.

"My Lord." She greeted excitedly.

Voldemort nodded pleasantly enough, tolerant of his follower's enthusiasm.

Bellatrix was second only to Sasha in rank and she was loyal to the extent of fanaticism. She was the kind of follower who would obey blindly any order that was given, no matter how confusing or pointless it seemed.

She had an excessive amount of faith in Voldemort and she didn't bother to hide it. Sasha sometimes wondered what her husband, Rodolphus, thought of his wife's infatuated behaviour but he had to admit they both seemed comfortable with the arrangement.

For pure-bloods, marriage was a lot less about love and a lot more about connections. Bellatrix had performed her filial duties and was now free to do whatever she liked with whomever she liked.

It was just as well; Sasha always suspected that Bellatrix was just too much woman for a man like Rodolphus. Voldemort was definitely more suited to her eccentricities—or at least more capable with dealing with them.

"I received word," Sasha announced when Voldemort gave a questioning glance, "from Hogwarts detailing their sincere _apologies_ at my untimely death."

Bellatrix started giggling again as she skipped over and presented the Dark Lord with the letter, who took it and scanned over the contents. A ghost of a smirk graced his lips. "How unfortunate." He said mindlessly as he read to the end.

"Very unfortunate. Awful even." Sasha agreed, "I'm glad you feel like that; the memorial is tomorrow. I could arrange for you to be there, if you like; since, technically, you're the one this letter is addressed to. I, of course, won't be there; what with my being dead and all, but by all means, you should make an appearance."

He made a show of thinking about it. "I think, perhaps, I will not be attending this. I'm sure I will be much too busy."

Sasha snorted, "Too busy to attend my funeral? What will you be doing that's too busy for that?"

Voldemort's eyes looked up from the page and over at Sasha. "I can assure you there are plenty of excuses I can make up if they question why I did not attend." He replied.

Huffing an amused breath, Sasha crossed his arms and shifted in his chair. "I wouldn't have thought you would ignore something you are so clearly duty bound to attend."

Bellatrix, now largely forgotten about, watched the interaction between boy and Dark Lord. She followed the conversation with wistfulness and a hint of jealousy. It didn't take a genius to know that she would never be privy to the sort of relationship they shared. Nor, for that matter, would any other Death Eater.

It was not unknown that the Dark Lord was a cold man. It was generally believed that he viewed every other person, pure-blooded or not, as below him. He didn't bother conversing because people were an annoyance to him. The only reason most of them were even alive was because they were useful. He certainly never would never elicit any sort of idle conversation with them, let alone partake in banter.

Voldemort was not a man who welcomed social interaction of any kind. Bellatrix and Sasha were perhaps the only two people that were gifted with seeing even a slightly more relaxed image of the man.

Sasha in particular.

Bellatrix had known her master longer than the boy, but she had always experienced a different side to him. Sasha had somehow managed to do what she, and everyone else, could not. Bellatrix was sure there was a lot he had witnessed that no Death Eater could claim. And though she didn't really know the extent of their relationship—though she did make suggestions that Sasha had neither agreed with nor denied—she knew it was completely unique.

She didn't hate the boy for his ability to squirrel in where she could not and she had to admit she was impressed by it, but that didn't mean she didn't occasionally feel jealousy at the fact. It wasn't all the time; mostly when she woke up in the mornings or when she was just about to go to bed at night and she looked across to see Rodolphus there instead of Voldemort.

But within minutes, those feelings were quelled. When she tried to put her envy into practise, it just didn't translate. Sasha was different. Had it been anyone else, then yes, Bellatrix could imagine herself casting hexes and brewing poisons surreptitiously. But this was not the case with him.

Sasha was Voldemort's boy. It was as simple as that. When she thought of her master, Bellatrix found herself seeing Sasha as the accessory. Forever at the man's side, he had become almost like family, a little brother who, frankly, she didn't absolutely despise.

Bellatrix had a hand in his tutelage growing up. She had shown him how to duel. Because of that connection, she had witnessed firsthand the strength he could muster when the occasion called for it. That was the crux of it. The boy had power—something she could understand and respect on a deeper level. He was a good ally and a competent duellist. Bellatrix herself had mentored him in the art of duelling and had been there to watch him grow from practically a squib to a duellist that could make the Dark Lord proud.

And, when she was being honest with herself, she could admit that she genuinely did like him. He tolerated her mostly, but stood up for himself when he had enough. He wasn't terrified of bending the rules _slightly_ and he was almost as loyal to Voldemort as she was. Even their personalities didn't seem to clash and that was a rare occurrence with Bellatrix.

Not to mention that now, after only a few years of training, Sasha was Voldemort's perfect little weapon. How could Bellatrix not appreciate that? Especially when she had had her own hand in the process? His success was in some part as much her success as it was Sasha's or even Voldemort's.

"Duty bound, you say?" Voldemort challenged, quirking his brow.

Sasha straightened in his chair, rising to the challenge.

Bellatrix would have liked to see this play out, but she knew by then she was not welcome anymore. No, by that point, her presence was a mere shadow. Looking over to the Dark Lord, Bellatrix knew her master had already thought her to be gone. She was just in the way at that stage.

Sighing, Bellatix turned and, muttering beneath her breath, exited the room, pulling the door behind her.

One side of Sasha's lips rose as his eyes flickered to the banging door. He returned his attention back to Voldemort.

"It's only right that you go." Sasha replied with an easy nod.

Voldemort stepped forward, his eyes roaming over Sasha's body splayed across the armchair. "And how do you figure that, hmm?" He asked his ward with a raised brow.

"Well, it would be rude not to at this point. _Everyone_ knows it was one of your servants that unleashed the basilisk, killing all those poor unsuspecting students. You should at least send flowers or something. After all; I did _die_ doing your work."

The Dark Lord advanced further, "There are better things I can do than send flowers."

Licking his lower lip, Sasha looked up at Voldemort, half rising from his seat, "Whatever could you mean?" He asked in a breathy whisper.

"Let me show you." Voldemort all but purred, leaning to down and capturing Sasha's lips slowly, possessively.

...

_{Explicit Content}_

...

As Voldemort wordlessly checked the bite mark on his shoulder, Sasha closed his eyes like a pleased cat in welcome company, curling his body slightly to feel more heat. It was bliss; the intense heat from the fire at the wall, and the slightly dimmer warmth from the Dark Lord on his other side. Not to mention the happy, relaxed state of his body now. He couldn't think of anything that would make this moment better.

He sighed contentedly.

Voldemort and he had begun a more intimate relationship only a year ago. Sasha didn't know exactly why it had started but he remembered thinking it was the next logical step. It wasn't love or anything silly like that. Just company, he supposed.

In the end, Sasha figured it didn't really matter who anyone was; everyone needed some kind of connection. Voldemort didn't let his Death Eaters close—and he certainly didn't take them to his bed. Sasha, by purely being there, had gotten closer than anyone else and for the most part they got on well together.

Like he already said; it was the next logical step.

"My Death Eaters would be horrified to see the infamous Sasha Kamenev so docile and kitten-like right now."

Sasha sighed again. This time it was not out of contentment. He cracked open his eyes. "There's a reason why I don't do this with your Death Eaters." He replied with a yawn.

A year ago, Voldemort and Sasha had been in that very same room, discussing how Sasha had got on with a mission he had just returned from. Voldemort, quite out of the blue as far as Sasha could see, had approached Sasha, moving in close with what had to have been a sexual advance. The shock of the action had Sasha leap out of his chair and scarper to the other end of the room, heart beating wildly.

Voldemort had brushed it off and taken the rejection with a shrug. He didn't bring the subject up again and he certainly didn't try anything else. Sasha, given time to think through the situation realised that he didn't actually mind the thought of being with his master. His reaction had been conspicuous but that was because he had been startled, not particularly because he was unreceptive to the idea.

But after the first time, Voldemort hadn't made any moves. In fact, he had acted as if it had never happened. Sasha had never been with boys, or men for that matter. And though he had started young—not even thirteen—it had never been something he really sought. The act, on the streets, had been more for comfort; two people coming together to forget about their horrible lives for just a little while.

There had been no other emotions tied up with it for Sasha, it was purely a physical act with a physical release at the end and a few minutes contact in the middle. That was all, it wasn't a big thing.

But it had been the male aspect of it that had made Sasha think twice. On the streets, with girls, he was in control; he had the power and the ability to defend himself if anything should happen. Sasha was always intensely aware at how much stronger Voldemort was than him, both physically and magically.

His hesitancy had been wrapped up in the question of whether he trusted Voldemort or not. In the end, after very little thought, he decided that yes, he did.

It had been awkward, the first time. Sasha had been nervous and Voldemort had been surprised, baffled and later thoroughly amused by his clumsy attempts at seduction. But they made it through somehow and a year later, there was none of that same discomfort.

Occasionally, Sasha would get flashes of distrust during the act. Brief pockets when he would suddenly be reminded of how vulnerable he left himself, but for the most part the experiences were enjoyable ones. Especially because they didn't happen unless Voldemort was in a particularly good mood.

Mostly it was when Sasha was succeeding at something, he noticed. It took him a while to figure out why but eventually he reckoned it was that infamous Dark Lord possessiveness thing they all seemed to have. When Sasha did well, it showed how good he was at his job. Voldemort saw himself as owning Sasha, showing how good _he_ was that his servant was so adept. It was, of course, a power thing.

Sometimes Sasha wondered if the man would get aroused by his throne if he started thinking about how completely he owned it. It was an amusing thought that he would never, ever voice, but it kept him entertained nonetheless. Voldemort would kill him if he only knew.

Sasha sat up and cracked his neck, easing the stress out of it. Then he pushed himself to his feet and stood straight, stretching his muscles out as he moved over to his discarded trousers. Seeing as how Voldemort's clothes were on top of his, Sasha threw them over his shoulder at the man.

He grabbed his own pair and started to climb into them.

"And where are you going to in such a rush?" Voldemort asked, somehow having put on trousers and standing right behind him with such speed.

Sasha didn't turn around as he did the button on the front and tightened the belt. "Out." He replied vaguely, "I'll be gone awhile; a day or two probably—no more than that though."

"I did not say you could leave." He said, grabbing Sasha and fitting him roughly into his chest. His hands grasped Sasha's arms, hard enough to leave red imprints of fingers. Sasha silently, patiently, took the harsh treatment. He rested his head against Voldemort's shoulder, effectively baring his neck. It wasn't an act of submission, however, just one of acceptant pacing. He knew the Dark Lord would not be happy at his absence—he had _hoped_ he wouldn't care, but knew he would be against it.

"I've always been free to come and go as I pleased," Sasha told him, "This was one of the criteria of my joining you. Would you go back on your word now?"

Voldemort scowled, "You're being childish." He scolded.

Frowning, Sasha removed himself from his master's grip, taking a few steps away and regarding him critically. "Would you?" Sasha asked again, more urgently now, agitation rising, "Would you go back on your word? Should I? Should _I_ go back on _my_ word? Should I leave you now and return to my old life?"

"That is enough, you are overreacting—"

"Answer me!" Sasha demanded, "Have the terms of our agreement changed?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, his face closed off. Sasha couldn't read his emotions, couldn't tell what was going on in his head. He didn't know what the man was going to do next—he rarely did, mind you.

"Our circumstances have changed—the war—"

"—has nothing to do with it. We knew there would be a war; _I_ knew there would be a war when I agreed to follow you. I need to know; have the terms of our agreement changed?"

This time, Sasha could see the thought process running through his master's head. He knew the moment Voldemort had made his decision to answer. "It has not changed." He said with an unpleasant curl of his lip, "You are dismissed." He spun on his heel and retreated to the other end of the room, sitting down on a chair and regarding Sasha with angry eyes.

Sasha was just as annoyed as he buttoned up his shirt, spitefully slowly now, purposely avoiding Voldemort's gaze. "I'll be back in a few days." He said eventually, when he finished fixing his clothing. He gave one last look at the Dark Lord and made to leave the room.

"You're running off with that filthy muggle girl again, are you not?" Voldemort asked with no attempt to hide his disgust.

Sasha half turned to look over his shoulder. "Yes." He admitted, his hand resting on the door handle. He wanted to sneer, inform the Dark Lord that she was not filthy, that she was his friend, a loyal and trustworthy friend. But this was an old debate and it would only result in their tempers flaring.

Of course, Sasha figured that might have been the idea; a good way to delay him and keep him here. He had more of a chance to convince Sasha not to go.

Sasha turned the handle and left the room, leaving a sulking Dark Lord behind.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

London was a place that Sasha knew well. He had grown up there after all. Each alleyway, every long, winding back road, Sasha could navigate through. He knew which buildings he could run through without getting caught, which parks he could hide in and which places were good to lose a tail. And that was only muggle London. Though, admittedly, he knew the wizarding quarters less entirely.

Still, inner city London was his territory. The suburbs however, were not.

He had never had much interest in the suburbs; they weren't his domain and if he ever ventured into them it was for a purpose. Whether he was robbing homes or lying low, he only ever needed to know specific areas.

Thessaly Road was one of the many places he had never had any interest in. That was, until recently anyway. Sasha was sitting on a few steps outside of a small apartment block, all brown stone and white railings, the whole six storeys of it. It was not the nicest of buildings, but it was hardly the worst. It had been built in the sixties when brown bricks had been popular and every apartment building had to have them.

It was cold outside and Sasha could see the mist of his breath in front of his eyes as he gazed restlessly over at the tiny patch of green below the steps. Some cat was prowling past him, all pompous indifference as it sniffed around judgingly. Sasha tried to tempt it over but after the barest glance, it padded away, its tail in the air, flicking him off.

There was a reason for this apparent waste of time; he was waiting for someone to arrive.

That someone appeared around the corner barely a minute later, walking down the street with plastic shopping bags in her hand. Her image immediately caught his attention.

Although not astonishingly beautiful, Diana had a certain intrigue that made her eye catching. She was exactly as she had been at thirteen; blond hair, tanned skin and big blue eyes that were deceptively innocent. But she was different too; she had grown into her body, became a woman at some stage in the past few years. She looked savvy too, like she could take a person on a wild goose chase and they could still leave thinking they'd had the best day of their lives. She was good that way.

She wasn't as observant as she used to be though; she had earphones on and her head was angled to the side as she looked at everything but what was in front of her. Sasha was in front of her but she didn't see him.

"Diana." He said, standing up and finally catching her attention.

Her head swung around and she flinched violently. A throwback from her days on the street, Diana looked ready to run or attack but torn between the two options. It took her a moment before she realised who was standing in front of her.

"Sasha!" She exclaimed, dropping the bags and throwing her arms around him.

He stiffened before wrapping his own around her briefly. "It's good to see you, Diana." He said sincerely, having truly missed her while he had been in Hogwarts.

Eventually, she let go, stepping back to take a look at him. She bent down and picked her bag up again. "You're looking well." She said. "Come on, it's cold out here."

She led the way up the stairs and over to her third floor apartment.

Diana had done well for herself; she had gotten off the streets and found a job. Later she had gone back to school and got herself an education; she was currently doing a part-time course, studying three nights a week and working during the day. Sasha didn't doubt that it was hard; he knew he wouldn't have it in him to do what she did. But it was necessary; no one survived well on the streets and she hadn't anyone to rely on after Sasha left.

This life was for the best; she would one day live easy.

He followed her into her apartment and was told to sit down on the sofa in her sitting room. She moved around the kitchenette for a few minutes, flicking on a kettle and preparing tea. Diana offered him food, but he declined profusely, lying to her by saying he had already eaten. She didn't need him taking her hard-earned money and it wasn't like he couldn't survive missing a meal.

"Where have you been?" Diana asked accusingly, setting down a mug of tea in front of Sasha and taking her own seat.

"Busy." Sasha replied, averting his eyes.

Diana knew some of Sasha's new life; _some_ of it—not the part where he ran around with witches, wizards and every other type of magical creature, obviously. What she knew was edited version of the truth. He told her that he had been recruited by a powerful man that would not take 'no' for an answer. He kept details scarce and Diana, presuming it was some sort of shady deal, didn't ask. It was a good arrangement.

It worked well for him.

It wasn't working then. Diana observed him with critical eyes. She was angry. "Yeah, yeah, you're always busy. Never got anything to show for it though, do you?"

She didn't exactly raise her voice or anything, but Sasha knew he was in trouble. Cleverly, he decided to sit quiet until she was finished. He would wait for her to continue. He didn't have to wait very long. When she spoke again, the anger was clear in her voice.

"You show up here after months of silence and then act like you've been away a week! Don't you even care that I might have been worried about you? Did you even ever think about me? Why didn't you call? Hell, even write a letter if you didn't want to talk. I can't do it to you because you're so damn secretive I can't even get an address on where you live!

"You told me you'd keep in touch. You _promised_ you'd phone me or write to me or something. And I believed you. You could have been dead for all I knew!"

Sasha tried to appease his friend by apologising, "I'm sorry," He said. When the simple apology didn't work, Sasha had to elaborate. "You know I can't talk to you about this stuff, but I've been away, on a mission; I only got back a day or two ago."

A pale, incredulous eyebrow was raised, "Oh yeah, and you couldn't tell me you were going away before hand? It just came up suddenly, did it?"

He shook his head, "Yeah, actually, it did; I barely had time to pack as it was."

Diana didn't look impressed, "Whatever, Sasha, I don't even care."

Sasha frowned. "Don't be like that. You think I wanted to make you worried? It's not like I had a choice. To be honest, I would have rather not gone at all, but that wasn't an option; you know what my boss is like. I would have told you if I could."

Holding the silence for a long time, Diana managed to stay impressively dispassionate. Eventually, her features softened from downright angry to slight annoyance and a little bit of defeat. "Alright." She said grudgingly, "But you swear to me Sasha Kamenev that you'll tell me the next time, okay? I had no idea if you were alright or if you were dead in some gutter somewhere."

Sasha nodded, "I'll do my best." He vowed.

"Your best?" She asked, unimpressed.

"Better than my best." He promised.

Diana sat back and looked at him critically. Sasha had to admit, she could rival the Dark Lord for her intimidating looks. She eventually broke eye contact and took a sip of her drink, pulling her legs up under her.

She was silent for a moment. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Sasha?" She asked.

Sasha didn't look surprised, but he felt it. "Why would you say that?" He said.

Diana shrugged, "I don't know, you just seem..." She searched for the right way to put it, "There's something about you tonight; you seem... odd."

Sasha had a lot on his mind; he was thinking about the war, about Voldemort, about the man who had claimed to be tasked with his assassination—about a great many things. And in his darker moments, Sasha could admit that he felt afraid. He didn't know what was waiting for him around the corner and he didn't know how he was going to deal with it. It weighed heavily on his mind.

He had thought he hid any physical trace of his inner apprehension but perhaps some of it had slipped. Had it really been obvious? If that was so, it was no wonder Voldemort had not seen him fit to leave by himself.

That annoyed him.

A lot.

Sasha didn't need to be looked after. He could do it himself.

"Sorry." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Can't help you there."

"Did you get caught doing something?"

"No."

"Are you on the run from the law? Or your boss?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Then—"

"Diana," Sasha interrupted suddenly, "I'm not in any kind of trouble, I swear."

"But—"

"I'm serious. Drop it. I'm not talking about this."

Diana sighed but did as he said. She reached over the table to grab a packet of cigarettes and leaned back. She took out a cigarette and lit it. "You want one?" She asked, throwing the box over at Sasha.

Of course, he should have said 'no'. Voldemort had forbidden him from taking them and he disliked the habit and what he believed to be Sasha's dependency on them. Sasha didn't have a dependency on smoking but Voldemort knew that; it was just an excuse to make him stop.

Still, going to Hogwarts hadn't stopped him from doing it and being in Diana's house certainly wouldn't either. Voldemort would never know anyway and so what if he did? That was what he got for calling Diana a 'filthy muggle'.

Sasha took one and lit it up, taking a long drag and relishing the rush of calm that it brought. He threw the packet back to Diana. "How's school?" He asked through the cigarette.

Diana groaned, "It's less fun than I'd thought it'd be." She said, "And I hadn't thought it was going to be all that fun."

Sasha grinned, "I had a run in with the whole school experience myself lately," he shared, "Not something I'd retry. I'm not that self-hating."

"Yeah, yeah, well we can't all be head hunted; some of us have to be educated to find work."

Sasha had told Diana that his boss had seen him on the streets and given him a job straight away. She had found it fishy, a man wanting a thirteen year old—no matter how promising he might be—but by the time he had told her that, Sasha had already been gone almost a year. By the time he had returned, Diana had been so happy that Sasha was alive that she hadn't questioned it. Voldemort hadn't let Sasha leave for all that time, thinking that eventually he would forget about Diana and he would hear no more of it.

The privilege to see her had been hard won and it was something Voldemort still fought him on regularly.

Sasha nodded, "I suppose, you can't all be as brilliant as me." He joked.

Diana grimaced and stuck out her tongue at him. "Laugh it up. You keep living a life of crime and I'll be visiting you in prison one day." She retorted.

She had said it light-heartedly, but Sasha's smile faltered. If he was ever caught, he probably would be sent to prison, but not anywhere in London. He would never see her again. Voldemort would be killed or at the very least given the Dementor's Kiss and Sasha was sure he wouldn't be far behind. While he still wasn't considered at adult in the muggle world, seventeen was old enough among wizards for the death sentence—or the sentence worse than death.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sasha?" Diana asked gently.

He certainly wasn't. "How's that boyfriend of yours?" He asked instead.

Diana knew he avoided the question but let it go. "You mean the one you broke the nose of? Surprisingly, we're not seeing each other anymore."

"He hit you. It was for the best."

Scowling Diana said, "I don't need anyone to look after me; I can handle myself."

"He hit you. What was I supposed to do? You can't defend yourself against someone that much bigger than you."

"Shows how little you know; you haven't been around, Sasha, I had to learn how to defend myself." She said accusingly.

Feeling a stab of guilt, Sasha looked away. "You're right," He said quietly, "I'm sorry."

Diana immediately regretted her words. She hadn't meant to say them; they just slipped out in the heat of it all.

"I don't blame you for going away, Sasha, you know that. I shouldn't have that. It's not how I feel."

Sasha nodded but was still a little more quiet than usual.

"Just promise to stop beating up my boyfriends and I swear I'll never mention it again."

Smiling Sasha said, "I can't promise anything."

"Are you staying the night?" Diana asked.

Sasha nodded, "Is that okay?"

"Kind of expected it, Sasha." Diana replied, "You're sleeping on the couch though; I've got work in the morning and I can't be going in after trying to get asleep on that ratty old thing."

She indicated to the 'ratty old thing'. Sasha was sitting on it. It was everything that Diana claimed it to be—but more than that too; it was actually quite comfortable. He wouldn't count on it being a hundred percent hygienic—especially since he suspected Diana had taken it from a skip—but there were worse things to sleep on.

"How long are you staying this time?" She asked.

Sasha rubbed his hands together, "Not long," He said, a hint of guilt in his voice, "Only a day or two; I don't want to be a burden."

Diana scoffed, "That's never stopped you before." She said.

Sasha nodded.

"Well," Diana announced, "I'm beat, I think I'm just going to head to bed. You know where everything is, just make yourself at home and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night," Sasha replied instinctively, "Thanks, Diana." He then added.

Diana waved him off, putting the cigarette out on an ashtray and standing up. She straightened her top, gave Sasha a quick smile and disappeared into her bedroom.

She appeared a minute or two later to present him with a blanket and a pillow but after that he was left alone. He opted for an early night that night. He needed this downtime; he needed to recuperate from this tiredness before he returned to the real world and the war. He didn't know why he was so tired lately; at first he blamed the _Expiscor Intentus_ but by now the effects should have worn off.

Something else was up.

Sasha tried to get the thought out of his head as focused on going to sleep; he wanted to enjoy his few moments of peace. He turned onto his side and felt a bump dig into him. Shifting so that he could remove it, Sasha brought up the bothersome object closer to his face.

It was a small white envelope; in it was a few hundred pounds. Sasha knew this because he had put it together. He was planning on giving it to Diana to keep her going for a little longer. He shuffled over to put it into his coat pocket.

Diana wouldn't take charity from anyone—even him. She would never accept the money if he gave it to her straight out. Instead, he would leave it behind him when he returned to Voldemort. She would grudgingly accept it then.

Yawning, Sasha snuggled back down, hoping to fall asleep quickly.


	16. Chapter 15

_Hi guys, I'm back in college now so I'm going to have less time to get these up. I'll try my best but there is a very high possibility that I won't be updating this as regularly as I used to. _

_Also, I've been meaning to say this for weeks but I kept forgetting to add it in. One of the the reviewers (I think it was signed Higashi) suggested that the description of the story was a little obscure. I think they might have a point actually (thanks for pointing it out if your reading Higashi! [and sorry of the lateness]) anyway, what do you guys think? Should I keep the description the same or should I change it?_

_Thanks and Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Chapter 15_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies**

...

The cloaked figure stepped out of the howling winds and freezing air and into the stuffy, temperate climate of the tavern. A few heads turned, their faces half hidden by their hunched shoulders as they nursed their pints. The figure was unremarkable, however, and so many of the tavern's patrons gave little more than a passing suspicion to the newest arrival.

The stranger gracefully moved into the room and glided over to a small nook and sat down, half hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit room. With a body language that was anything but social, the figure sat quietly on the seat. Eventually, a disinterested barkeep approached the person, rubbing his sweaty hands on his trouser leg.

"What d'you want?" He asked gruffly, clearing the phlegm out of his throat.

A small, pale hand rose and waved him away. With a shake of a head, the barkeep shrugged and left, muttering under his breath about going to a tavern and not ordering anything.

Statuesque, the figure sat for a long, long time. Staying perfectly still and seated attentively, it almost seemed as if they were waiting for someone. It eventually became apparent this was so.

When the door opened again a man, brusque and grumpy, appeared in the doorframe, stomping through the tavern and whooshing himself onto a stool at the bar. He loudly ordered a drink and demanded that it come quickly, banging his hand on the counter to accentuate the command.

The cloaked figure took clear interest in the man and straightened in the seat. It stood up swiftly, floating over to him and sitting on the chair beside him. When everyone else moved away from this man, this figure approached him eagerly.

"Get outta here." The crotchety old man demanded, eyeing the stranger with a disinterested glance.

His words had the opposite effect. The figure leaned in closer, unperturbed by his rudeness but seemingly worried that someone would overhear what was about to be said. "You're Eldon Osset, aren't you?" The cloaked figure asked.

Eldon Osset raised a brow and suddenly paid more attention to the person beside him. "Ain't bin called that in some time. Who're you?" He asked gruffly.

"My name is Lily Potter," The cloaked figure said, hiding her face behind the material, "I've come to talk to you about the Enoch—"

Osset jumped up and grabbed her arm, hissing, "You stupid?" He growled, "Brings no good, sayin' their name like that. You'd best keep yer voice down." He looked around suspiciously, eying the other patrons with worry. No one seemed to notice their interaction, all too intent on their own lives. Slowly, his grip loosened and he sat back down.

"So it's true then," Lily breathed, "You have been in contact with them."

"Oh, aye." Eldon Osset replied, "I've seen em. Talked to em. Dealt with em. Never do it again—once was more 'n enough fer a lifetime... Why?"

"I'm looking for them."

The man froze. He unconsciously rubbed his chest, hand over his heart. "You'd best be leavin' now an' not fillin' yer pretty head with them silly notions." He advised.

"I can't accept that. I will find them with or without your help. But I would greatly appreciate your assistance."

"This ain't no small matter." Eldon Osset warned.

"No, it's not," Lily agreed, "I'm deadly serious."

The man studied her for a moment. His pint arrived on the bar with a grunt from the barkeep. He rubbed his scrubby beard as he picked up the drink and gulped down a few mouthfuls. The glass banged as it hit the bar. He rubbed his mouth with his sleeve. With a sigh, Eldon Osset nodded curtly. "Fair enough." He said, giving one last wistful glance to his half-finished pint, "C'mon, we'll discuss this somewhere else; ain't safe in here with all them eager ears listenin' in."

He stood up stiffly, bones creaking and cracking as he did. He rubbed his back as he shuffled over to the door without any sort of grace. Lily followed his slow progress with light footsteps, disappearing out the door seconds behind him.

Eldon Osset led her through the tiny village.

It wasn't English, this little place. It was in one of the snowy mountain ranges of Slovakia, the High Tatras. She had learned of the old man from another. That person had mentioned only his name and his infamy. Eldon Osset had claimed to meet creatures that were very like the ones Lily had encountered. He was ridiculed for this discovery, forced to leave his homeland and move to Slovakia where he could live in peace away from both his embarrassment and the creatures that he believed would one day come for him.

They said he was crazy. Lily would have been inclined to think so too, had she not been seen in the exact same light. But then, perhaps she was crazy—and he was too. Perhaps those creatures turned even the most grounded people like herself into lunatics. It wasn't beyond belief—not even nearly.

Either way, they had led to Eldon Osset's exile and her own temporary one. She had travelled across the world, looking for people who claimed to have some contact with what she was looking for. There were a few, but they were all dead by the time she arrived—all but Eldon Osset and one other who had lain dying in a hospital bed before her.

The last word the dying woman had managed to speak was one that sent chills down her spine. "Enochian" was what she uttered, barely moments before she passed away and left Lily with the first real clue as to the creatures' identities.

That one word had led her here, to Slovakia, in search of the crazy hermit, Eldon Osset.

As they passed through the snowy village, people occasionally looked out of their windows at them before retreating to their safe homes once more. It was a magical village, this place; there were no muggles here, but it was still relatively isolated from the magical world, never looking beyond itself. Any outsider was immediately worrying to the villagers. That didn't matter though; Lily wouldn't be here any length of time.

They left the village and walked down a small path covered in ice and snow. The progress was slow but eventually the path led them to a little hut about a mile away from the main village and buried neatly in the forest. Eldon Osset's safe house.

He rummaged in his pocket for a while as he walked, finding the keys and pulling them out just as they approached the door. He fumbled with them in the lock and grunted when he finally opened the door. "Come in." He muttered as he walked through the threshold.

Lily entered the tiny hut and shut the door behind her. The whole place would have been engulfed in utter darkness had Eldon not lit a match and started burning a candle. Lily frowned. Why wasn't he using magic? It would make life a lot easier for him. As if he read her thoughts, Eldon answered them.

"Can't be too careful," He grunted, "Them _things_ sense the magic. It calls out to em...traitorous bitch that it is."

If Lily was shocked by the language, she didn't show it. "What are they?" She asked instead, always eager for answers.

"Sit down." Eldon told her, motioning to a chair in front of an unlit fire. She did as was asked, wrapping her cloak around her for warmth as she watched him manually start the fire. The heat built up slowly and as the old man eased himself into the chair across from hers, she felt just about warm enough to let her hood down.

They sat in silence. Lily felt the desire to twitch in discomfort, but stayed still despite it all. She could tell that the old man wasn't just being silent; he was gathering his thoughts.

"Do you want a drink?" He asked after a while.

Lily shook her head, "No...thank you."

Eldon nodded thoughtfully. He rubbed his face tiredly, "What you be wantin' to know about _them_, then? They don't be gracious to folks who pry into their business."

"It's more than mere curiosity, I can assure you." Lily said stiffly.

"Even still, yer either stupid or insane to be goin' down this road—and you don't strike me as bein' stupid."

Lily scowled. She had not come here to discuss her character or the flaws in it; she had come to learn about _them_. Those creatures that so clearly haunted both her and Osset. He was stalling; Lily knew it and she didn't have the time to cater for it.

"My son," She explained, "they have him. I'm going to get him back—no matter what it takes."

The man nodded slowly, his eyes became distant and sad. "I know how you feel," He shared with her, "Them demons... they did the same thing to me and my family forty years ago. Took my daughter n' killed my wife. They wooed her, tricked her into the bed of one of em an' then, when she had conceived their offspring for em they took her."

"She wasn't your daughter?"

"I raised her well enough." He defended, "Was there for her whole life—until she turned twelve, that is. That's when they take em; when they're still human-like. Folk think they're squibs, but they ain't, they just haven't gotten their skills yet—an' won't neither, not until they're much older."

"No, that's not right." Lily denied, "My son... he had magic, he was seventeen. They only took him a few weeks ago from Hogwarts. You've got it wrong."

The man looked confused, then sad, "If he's that old... he's a rogue. Merlin, I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" Lily demanded, suddenly frightened.

Eldon Osset struggled to stand up. He slowly made his way over to a table by the far side of the room that held a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey on it. He took his time pouring it and picking up the tumbler. He slowly walked back to the seat and fell into it, his whiskey sloshing dangerously with the motion.

"What do you mean?" Lily asked again, impatiently.

"It ain't right what they do," He said, "damn unnatural."

"What do you mean!" Lily growled, terrified and frustrated.

Eldon lowered his eyes and took a guilty sip of his drink. "...They kill 'em—I'm sorry; it ain't right, but it's true. They consider 'em dangerous, they don't like 'em runnin' wild like that."

Lily sat silently, frozen. "They kill them?" She asked slowly. Her eyes were distant; she turned to face the fire, the flames dancing in her irises. "No. No, that can't be right. It just can't; my son is alive—I know he is."

Eldon was quiet, watching Lily with pitying eyes. He knew she was in denial and he knew how hard it was to hear, but he wasn't the sort of person who was good at comforting people. He took another sip of his whiskey, watching her over the rim of the glass.

Lily kept speaking, babbling almost. "I can feel it; he's alive, they wouldn't kill him—they can't! I've just found him again; I won't let him be dead. He's..." He voice broke as a sob caught in her throat. Her hand went up to her mouth and she closed her eyes.

"I don't know what to say."

"Is there no chance that he's alright?" She whispered.

Eldon sighed deeply. He didn't want to answer, didn't want to dash this woman's hopes. He had felt the same way when his family had been split up, but for her it was even worse; her son was dead, at least he knew his daughter was out there somewhere.

"I don't know." He said helplessly, "I really don't. Them creatures don't like us to know 'bout 'em."

"What are they?" Lily asked weakly, her face torn in anguish.

Eldon shook his head, "Don't rightly know," he admitted, "One muggle claimed to have met them years ago; called 'em angels. That's all I know. Don't know if it's true but it's what's said."

Angels.

Lily's parents had spoken about angels when she was a girl. She and Petunia would be wrapped up in their beds and their mother would come in and tell them to say their prayers.

"_Angel of God, my guardian dear..."_

She told stories, her mother, of all the beautiful angels, of Gabriel and Uriel, Michael and Raphael. The guardians of goodness. All righteous power and beauty Strong and unyielding yet kind and virtuous. Protectors of children and women.

"_...to whom God's love commits me here..."_

She thought of _him_ then, Paveh Drux, a snake hidden in the long grass. All manly beauty, breathtaking, awe-inspiring. The feel of his hands on hers as they swayed to the music in the most extravagant ball she had ever attended. The look of his eyes when they studied her as if he found her fascinating. The honest expression on his face as he spoke.

"_Ever this day be at my side..."_

The way he whispered sweet nothings into her ear and listened to her speak of her hopes and aspirations with an accommodating smile lifting his lips ever so slightly. He had portrayed himself as the perfect man inside and out. What a farce that was. Lift up the first layer and see the rotting pulp beneath the facade.

"_...To light and guard and rule and guide."_

No, her mother had told her about angels and Paveh Drux was no angel. He was a demon, a hollow shell of a creature, twisted and corrupted into the dark beauty that had stood before her that night, eighteen years ago. What a hateful thing she found him to be. In her mind, his eyes were somehow darker, less emotional, more sinister. His figure was even taller than his tall six feet and his aura...suddenly she wondered how she hadn't known before.

The betrayal hurt her again, as painfully as the first time she had experienced it. It wrenched her gut, twisted her heart. She placed her hand on her chest, feeling the organ beat frantically beneath her skin. She slowed her heart, took control of her breathing and racing thoughts and focused herself.

Her gaze fell to Eldon Osset. She sat straight and proud on her chair, composed and in control. "My son is alive." She told him sternly, "And I will find him. Thank you for your help, it was most... enlightening. I will be leaving now."

She stood up swiftly and walked to the door.

"Good luck." Said Eldon Osset from his chair, "I hope you prove me wrong."

Lily's face softened to her usual saddened look, "Yes," She agreed, "I do too. Thank you."

She left the small hut then, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

Eldon Osset let his thoughts wander for a long time, the minutes and hours ticking by as he finished the bottle of firewhiskey, drinking out of the bottle now that his company had left. His thoughts wandered to the daughter that was never his but he had raised alongside his late wife. It was a long time for mourning, all those forty years, but he hadn't been able to move on.

With a sigh he reached into the pocket of his coat and took out his long forgotten wand. He rubbed it thoughtfully; it had been forty years since he'd used magic. Forty years and living in fear. For what? This place? He looked around the decrepit hut. Forty years was too long to deny his nature.

He pointed to the small candle on a table in the corner of the room.

"Accio candle." He muttered, half-terrified, half-excited over the result. The candle shook and then flew into his opened grasp. He laughed giddily. He had forgotten the feeling of magic. It was so _powerful,_ so _freeing_. Why had he even stopped?

The fire on both the candle and the hearth flickered. There was a sudden whip of cold, cold air through the hut. Quicker than he had moved in many years, Eldon jumped to his feet and spun on his heel, coming face to face with two people. Two of _them_. He knew it was them, the Enoch.

The wand fell from his numbed hands as he caught a glimpse of the female of the two. It was her, it had to be.

"Harriet?" He croaked, his eyes tearing up, "It's you, isn't it?"

Harriet, his daughter, she had returned after all these years. No longer the young girl of his memories. The twelve year old had changed drastically in the last forty years; no longer the fresh eyed girl that had dreamt of working with children, this woman must have been fifty, no wrinkles—though there should have been. Her face wasn't that of a fifty year old at all—too young. But no, she was all grown up, hard eyed and inhuman. No less beautiful than she was as a child, but it was more of a surreal beauty, like a figure from a painting, or a character from a book. She was as inaccessible as one too.

"Harriet?" He asked again. "It's me, don't you remember?"

Harriet changed her stone-like appearance and glanced at her companion, the brown haired male. She looked slightly exasperated as she continued to ignore her father.

The next words spoken were not by her, but by the man. "Oh, Eldon," He said mockingly, "You've been a bold boy." His smile was sinister, his teeth too sharp, his eyes too deadly.

"What do you want? Harriet, what's going on?"

"We would have left you alone." The man said with a shake of his head, "Would have let you die off by your own mortality. But you just had to push it, didn't you? Had to spill your guts to that woman and tell her what you knew. Very foolish, Eldon, very stupid."

"Don't touch her!" Eldon demanded.

The man laughed, "Oh don't worry; we won't go near her yet. But it's only a matter of time before we do. That one, she's on a warpath, won't stop until she discovers all there is to know. Luckily for her, you still don't know anything. She'll learn that soon enough. When that happens, we'll be forced to act. Pity, I hear she's quite the brilliant mind. But nevertheless, I digress; today, it's all about you."

Eldon looked ready to give up then and there. He turned to his daughter. "What will you do?" He asked.

Harriet studied him for a moment. "What should have been done long ago." She told him, her face devoid of any emotion.

"You would kill your own father?" He asked in resignation.

Harriet sighed, "You were never my father—merely the man my mother cheated on. The fool who let himself be led. It would have been a mercy to kill you forty years ago. We should have done it then."

It was Eldon's experience that the body often registered pain before the brain could analyse it. This was one of those times. He could have howled in anguish. Forty years of keeping it together, hoping that his daughter would remember and love him as he did her. Now, after all that time, she threw it back in his face.

"Well why didn't you kill me then, eh?" He cried, "Why torture me like this?"

"It wasn't necessary" was the only reply he got from his shell of a daughter.

He stumbled back at the harsh treatment, catching his back on the mantelpiece, the fire heating his calf muscles uncomfortably. If only it was bigger, he would have thrown himself in and ended it all then and there. He gasped in misery, his world crumbling down around him. He closed his eyes and wallowed in his pain.

"What are you waiting for then?" He whispered behind closed lids, "Finish this and be rid of me."

Since his eyes were closed, he missed the change in expression across Harriet's face. She looked saddened, torn between killing him and letting him live. Her male companion huffed and stepped forward to do the job that Harriet could not.

"See ya later, old man." He said as he quickly conjured up a curse and threw it at Eldon.

It was quick, painless and Eldon Osset crumpled to the ground immediately. He was dead before the light faded in his eyes. Harriet held her breath and half-turned, back to both her companion and her late ex-father.

"It had to be done." The man said.

She nodded in agreement. It _did_ have to be done. She knew that. "I shouldn't have come here." She said, "It was selfish of me; I knew it would create turmoil within him."

She had just wanted to see him one more time. To look upon the man who had taken her horse-riding or let her pick out a puppy and helped her with her homework. She wanted to say goodbye. Her uneasiness at the situation made her revert back to her cold, professional ways and she had said things that shouldn't have been said.

"It had to be done." He said again, this time with a shrug. "Come on, it's over. We need to leave."

Numbly, Harriet Osset agreed.

The two Enoch left the hut, leaving the body behind. They stepped out into the snowy atmosphere of the outside world and walked a few steps through the deep fall. There was a storm coming. One that would cover the small hut entirely and bury it completely. Eldon Osset would have died of slow starvation. This was kindness. They walked a few metres from the hut before they both promptly vanished without a sound.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Voldemort stood in a darkened room with only the light from a fire and that coming from the bubbling cauldron to illuminate the area. He stirred his concoction mindlessly, thinking deeply about his wayward charge.

Sasha was much too independent for Voldemort's tastes, but it was unfortunately something that made the boy so desirable and useful. He disliked knowing that he had chosen that muggle girl over him, but that, regrettably, was another trait that the Dark Lord respected; loyalty. Infuriating though it was.

The mixture popped and bubbled and Voldemort looked down at it. The potion had changed from a slightly pink colour to a milky white. Soon he wouldn't need the old parchment that detailed how to make the legendary Elixir of Life. It wasn't that he was almost finished, but that he was changing the potion, making it better.

The Elixir of Life was a powerful potion; one that many would kill for—he knew he had. But that was not what he would have, he would not settle for mere longevity. He wanted immortality. The Elixir of Life could not grant it—but he planned to change that with a few additions of his own.

Voldemort moved from the cauldron and went over to a table which held the items he needed. They were the ingredients necessary in the making of a regeneration potion. The bone of his father, a vial of blood from his most loyal servant, Sasha Kamenev, and that of an enemy. That had been the hardest to get and he had only managed to get a tiny bit.

Dumbledore's blood was indeed the hardest thing to come by. It was something he was only able to scavenge a few weeks ago after he had fought against the old man on a raid. The order had had to retreat and Voldemort just got to the small pool of blood on the ground to collect enough of it before it coagulated and dried into the ground.

It was done now though, he had managed it. Having Dumbledore's blood would make the potion even stronger. And a strong regeneration potion mixed with the Elixir of Life would change them both into something new, something stronger, something that would guarantee him the immortality he so craved.

He would not have to rely on keeping the Philosopher's Stone safe and be required to make a new elixir every few decades. This was the perfect potion.

He muttered the appropriate incantations as he added the different ingredients to the potion. His concoction, full of dark, unholy magic, spit and hissed and sputtered ominously as blackness bled into the previously white fluid.

The smell rising from the cauldron would have suggested to most that the potion had gone bad, but forbidden magic of this calibre was never supposed to appeal to the senses. It was a natural defence against the dark arts. One that Voldemort had long since disabled.

He took a step back from the potion. It needed some time to stew. The process of making such a potion was a complicated one; he started making it the day Sasha had brought the stone to him and had been completing each of the intricate stages since. It had taken him this long to complete it. But then, he would only ever need to make this potion once more.

Once he got Sasha to take his potion, he would never need it again and would be able to destroy the Philosopher's Stone once and for all so no other man would ever able to use it again.

He was just waiting on Sasha to finally accept the idea of immortality.

The boy had been strangely resistant to the idea. He had given a reason, half hidden in his mutterings. Something about the stone. Some reason concerning the nature of it. Voldemort hadn't quite caught it and Sasha had been tight-lipped about the whole thing.

The Dark Lord would stop that stupidity soon. All he needed to do was warm Sasha up to the idea a little. In truth he would feel a lot better knowing that Sasha wasn't in danger when he sent him out on missions. It was not that he cared for the boy, or even cared about him. Only that Sasha was a valuable asset and he did not want to lose that.

Sasha was loyal, surprisingly so, and his loyalty was not out of any views or ideals. This was something Voldemort had never experienced before. He did not have any other follower capable of such devotion. Even Bellatrix, who would be best described as fanatical had originally joined him out of respect to his anti-muggle stance—and his power, his power had drawn her like a moth to the flame.

That was not the case with the boy. He had been devoted through a mere glimpse, a chance meeting on a bustling street. It was a selfless dedication born from something Voldemort had no concept of. It was intoxicating. The Dark Lord knew, with nothing short of absolute certainty, if the occasion called for it, Sasha would lay down his life for him. That sort of strength was unique among his followers. Even Bellatrix fled when a battle was lost.

Such an iron will should be rewarded, should it not? Sasha had earned his offer of immortality, had he not? Voldemort certainly thought so. The boy deserved this gift. And, with no fear of losing him, Voldemort could continue to send him off to do his bidding. What was more, he could continue to have Sasha do his bidding for eternity.

Sasha was the only one he could trust with an eternity of servitude. He was the only one Voldemort thought he could bear to be around for that long. And if he did tire of the boy... well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Voldemort checked the potion. It would be ready in a moment. He walked over to an antique cabinet and opened the doors. He rifled through it for a while, finally finding a bottle big enough to contain his new invention.

Standing up, he went over to the cauldron, took it off the fire and poured it into the container. He swirled the liquid around for a little while inside the bottle. He looked at it with a slight grimace. This wasn't going to be easy to get down or keep it there. It oozed thick blackness, sticking to the sides of the clear container like oil or tar.

Taking a steadying breath, Voldemort brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back, swallowing it all in three huge gulps. He coughed and spluttered, surprised by the unpleasantness.

Voldemort waited. He wondered exactly what would happen.

It started suddenly—quicker than he expected—that feeling of utter illness and intense 'wrongness'. It felt as if his insides were being squeezed and pulled all at the same time. He gritted his teeth and doubled over. His heart ached as if it had been stabbed, his muscles shook and quivered. Then, when he could hold it in no longer, he dropped to his knees, strangled howls emitting unwillingly from deep within his throat.

His spine felt like snapping, his skin felt burning. All the nerves were being rearranged; all his blood vessels were shifting. His eyes couldn't open; his tongue was too heavy to move. Even the weight of his hair felt too heavy for him to keep his head up. For a very brief moment, he thought he had made a mistake. He thought he was going to die.

And then, as suddenly as it started it was over, leaving him gasping nonetheless. Voldemort looked up, thankful that he was alone and no one was around to witness his weakness. He froze. Something else welled up in him, barrelling through him at intense speeds.

Strength, power, invincibility.

He felt as if he was twenty again. But no, better that that even. He felt alive. His skin felt stronger, his muscles tighter, better. His vision was sharper, his senses were clearer. He stood up gracefully. There was nothing of his previous weakness. His movements were fluid and strong.

There was a mirror at the other end of the room. Voldemort strode over to it eagerly. He gazed into it. His appearance had not changed; his aura, however, had. There was an air of power around him. His image seeped strength and the healing power that only a youthfulness he didn't possess could give him.

He laughed then suddenly.

He had done it. Dumbledore be damned, he had done it. He was immortal now. After almost seventy years of waiting, he had succeeded in his greatest aspiration. Nothing could stop him now. The time for caution was over. Dumbledore wouldn't know what hit him.

This was all out war.

Now all he had to do was wait for his wandering ward to finish sniffing around and return home.

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><p><em>And so, this is the end of part one of this story. Thanks for everyone staying with it this long! The set up is finished, from now on it'll be action and answers!<em>


	17. Chapter 16

Phew, it's finally up. This took me forever to get to! Also, the next chapter is going to be quite short so with any luck it will be up fairly soon.

Anyway, enjoy!

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><p>...<p>

_Chapter 16_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha returned as he promised he would, two days later.

It had been good to see Diana again—a much needed distraction from all the worrying thoughts that had plagued his mind these past few weeks. Of course, with his sudden reappearance, Diana had demanded things of him. They weren't much—admittedly—merely that he stay in touch and inform her if he was going away again. It wasn't all that unreasonable, but it gave him another problem to deal with.

After all, he couldn't very well send her a written note by owl, could he? And he simply wouldn't have time to write and mail anything manually—especially not since Voldemort had decided it was imperative to advance _now_.

Sasha had barely sat down on his bed when he had been summoned by Voldemort and informed that he was going on another mission. They had left the mansion almost immediately with Sasha being briefed on the way.

He was to lead a small group of Death Eaters in an attack. Voldemort would lead another group and Bellatrix one more. Together, they would take their adversary from different sides and meet in the centre when they were finished. That was what led him to where he was at that moment.

He was poised, ready to attack and jump into motion if he needed to. He looked over his shoulder, his face hidden by a mask; his eyes were studying the men and women behind him. "Row faster." He commanded sharply to the two Death Eaters that were holding the oars.

They were with a small fleet of boats, four in total with five people in each. It was for a very specific reason they were on a boat, on a furious ocean with only a speck of dark on the horizon in front of them indicating land. They were heading to that speck of land now.

The ocean roared and growled as the waves rose high and went deep. The boats were at their limit as they battled through the continuous salty swells. They splashed and shuddered each time they hit the dip. Balance was hard to maintain on the ever moving surface and he had to keep a hand on the bow just to stay upright.

Sasha hadn't been on the sea before and he was doubtful that he would ever return; it wasn't a pleasant experience and his stomach just about held it together. Somehow he didn't think Voldemort would appreciate him throwing up all over his minions.

Sasha waited a moment before turning again, this time more fully to regard the Death Eaters. "Move faster!" He snarled, "We're falling behind the other groups. The timing has to be perfect or we won't be able to pull this off."

One or two of them looked disgruntled at being ordered around, but none dared challenge him. Even though the majority of the Death Eaters didn't know Sasha's identity or even what he looked like, they knew that he was the Dark Lord's right hand. Each one of them had enough sense to know that bringing attention to themselves was a bad idea. A bad idea that they may not survive.

Sasha huffed and turned back around, looking straight at the distant land. It wasn't really land, only an island, a chunk of rock with a single stone building risen high. It could have been mistaken for a light house, only there was no light and it seemed to take it away as opposed to give it. It was Azkaban. This was the battle that would announce Voldemort's brutality to the world—show them what he was really capable of.

He brought his hand up to his mask, shifting it slightly. Though uncomfortable, the blank covering reminded Voldemort's minions that Sasha was, and never would be, on the same level as them. He was a higher status. A servant of his master to be sure, but not in the same way they were. There was a lot of speculation as to the identity of Voldemort's right hand man, the exact relationship between the two and of course, what Sasha's role actually was. But it was all just that; speculation. No one knew for sure.

Either way, they all agreed on one thing; the person behind the black, void-like mask was not to be messed with. They weren't sure what would be worse; Sasha's retaliation or Voldemort's. The only consolation with Sasha was that he would not kill any of his master's followers without Voldemort's say. Still, torture could go a long way before death.

Sasha smirked behind his mask, taking sadistic pleasure in the knowledge that the Death Eaters feared him. His eyes settled on the image of Azkaban, finally starting to grow in size. It would not be long before they reached their destination. When that happened there would be all out panic, war, destruction. It gave Sasha a feeling of lively excitement that he had not felt in a long time.

Everything was on edge and strange these days—even he did not feel like himself. There was a certain feeling of advent, of things being about to happen and Sasha couldn't figure if they were going to be good or bad. This was the calm before the storm and he had been mulling over it more than he should have been.

This excursion, at least, was a welcome distraction. He wouldn't have to worry about all the little things that had been niggling in the back of his mind these past few days. Everything would be simpler for a few hours; just survive, kill or be killed. What could be a better mind frame?

After he had left the streets, he had little use for this outlook and was required to learn a different way of living; the cold, calculating way that Voldemort employed through his elaborate plans. It was almost an over-stimulation for Sasha's head. His own way was much easier. It relied on quickness and accuracy. Voldemort's way was like a chess game; boring, overly complicated and too slow moving to be any fun.

Sasha's technique worked well in situations like these, Voldemort's worked well in scheming. Together they were a formidable team and Sasha, not overly fond with the complicated planning, was happy to have Voldemort as his master.

Voldemort certainly seemed content with this circumstance.

That brought thoughts of Voldemort's recent success to mind. He had become immortal, successfully doing what no other man had. Sasha was pleased that he had not failed, but was worried now too. His master seemed intent on him taking the potion as well. Perhaps he had been performing too well?

Either way, Sasha wasn't at all willing to take the elixir; immortality would undoubtedly be an advantage in the war and certainly would aid him in all the things he wanted to do. But that was not the issue.

What concerned him was the stone itself. It worked well enough; Voldemort's success had been evidence enough of that, but that was not it either. The Philosopher's Stone spoke a great many things to Sasha. It spoke of power and life, but what it offered seemed...artificial somehow and he couldn't bare the idea of subjecting himself to something so unnatural.

It was silly and Sasha certainly couldn't say why this bothered him so much. He only knew beyond a doubt that he would not take anything that came from the Philosopher' Stone.

But that didn't matter now though, not when they were so close to Azkaban. It was looming now, towering over them ominously. Sasha took a deep breath. This was going to be one of the last moments of calmness before the explosions started.

"You all know the plans, do you not?" He asked quietly, not turning around this time.

There were a few murmurs of agreement.

Sasha nodded, pleased. "This will happen fast. There's going to be a lot of confusion once we attack. We need to use that to our advantage; do anything you need to do, _be_ anything you need to be in order to ruin the hopes of these people. We need them destroyed—demolished, torn apart. If they even think that there is hope for them, they will revolt. We need them dead on their feet before we kill them. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my Lord." They muttered quietly.

Sasha's eyes travelled to the side of the cliffs of Azkaban. Along here somewhere was a small sea cave. That was where they were headed now. He spotted it. The cave arose suddenly as a darker dot against a dark background. Straightening, Sasha made sure he had actually seen what he thought he had and his eyes weren't just playing tricks on him.

"There," He said, "Go over there."

They moved as fast as they could, rowing quietly with little more than the rhythmic splash of the oars in the water. The ocean had settled the closer the came to the cliffs, so much so, that now they were moving through still water.

Sinisterly, they floated into the dark sea caves. Sasha took out his wand.

"_Lumos_..." He muttered and his wand emitted a bright light. They travelled slowly, avoiding all the sharp and obstructing rocks that were littered arbitrarily around them. It wouldn't do to end up with half their boats sunken to the bottom the cave. Sasha didn't think that he would need a quick getaway but it certainly would hurt to have one prepared.

Squinting, Sasha could just about make out a ledge; this was the end of the cave. There was only a natural walkway of rock. Sasha stood up as the boat floated over to it, he hopped off and grabbed the stern, steadying it and ensuring that it didn't bang off the hard rock. Around him, the other boats were doing the same. He grabbed a rope and tied it to a stalagmite, checking that it was tight before he turned to face his soldiers.

"It's a dead end," Walden Macnair sneered, swinging around to address Sasha accusingly, "Now what do we do?"

Sasha resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, he coolly regarded Macnair. "Firstly, I would suggest you remember your place, Macnair else you'll be liable to be reminded of it by both myself and the Dark Lord." He informed him in a bored voice, "Furthermore, are you really so simple to think that there would be a nice, easy way into Azkaban, the darkest, worst prison in Europe?" Sasha breezed past Macnair, walking over to the hard, stone wall. He pressed his hand to it and closed his eyes.

Breathing deeply, Sasha listened to the dim sound as he tapped his fingers against the wall.

"What are you—?" Thorfinn Rowle began.

"_Hush!"_ Sasha said, "I'm listening." He rolled his eyes, aggravated by the interruption. He moved down the wall until he found a place that he deemed right. His palms ran across the smooth, wet rock. "This is it..." He whispered, finding the perimeters of his work space.

Muttering to himself, he took out his wand, tracing the areas around where he wanted to work. His maple wand left blood red marks embedded deeply in the rock. They were symbols, ancient ones that no one understood anymore but everyone recognised as powerful and dark.

Although, they weren't actually dark—just old. But, like many things, once people believed something to be true, it became that way. A sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Now only powerful, dark wizards used such things. Sasha had learned this technique in Hogwarts, on one of his many night-time wanderings in the restricted section of the library. If he had known school was so useful he would have gone a long time ago.

When he finished, he stood back to regard his work. Satisfied, he gave himself a slight nod, pleased with how it turned out. He stood still.

"What are you waiting for?" Rabastan Lestrange muttered.

Sasha inclined his head, "We're too early. We need to wait until the Dark Lord is in place. It won't be long now."

"How will we know when we're ready to move?" Augustus Rookwood asked innocently enough.

Sasha gave an amused smile, he didn't answer, just waited patiently with his hands clasped behind his back. They'd all see in a minute. All they needed to do was wait. Sasha knew what would happen, but he let them discover for themselves.

Suddenly, they did.

Everyone around him grunted and grabbed at their arms in pain.

Sasha smirked delightedly, "It's time." He chimed, completely unaffected by the burning Dark Mark that the others had.

Sasha wasn't marked by the Dark Lord—never had been. There was never any need for it. Besides, Sasha wasn't a Death Eater. He was still a servant of the Dark Lord, but he was definitely no mere Death Eater. That was made abundantly clear to everyone. Sasha was above them. It didn't matter that he was of impure blood; he was more important than anyone in Voldemort's ranks.

Sasha stood proudly at that thought. He raised his wand and pointed it in the centre of his newly-made graffiti. "_Aperio"_ He said and then looked to the side, "Shield your eyes."

The wall disintegrated into a puff of dust. A swarm of rats scarpered from the new exit and they rushed past everyone's feet. Sasha waited for them to go before he moved through the hole in the wall. "Move out." He commanded, venturing further into the darkness. "Be ready to attack."

The stone room was a tiny little storeroom, one of the least guarded places in the stronghold. Sasha didn't linger, he hurried to the door, creaked it opened and, after seeing that there was no one out there, advanced further.

The next room was some unidentified space with a chair, a table and a newspaper. Obviously some guard used it for when he went on break.

Sasha stopped in front of the next door. "Wreak havoc, Death Eaters," He muttered, "Make your Lord proud and bask in his glory."

He could feel them on the other side, people, men, guards. This was it. He grabbed the handle on the door and threw it open. He rushed into the room, screaming "_Confundo!"_ as he aimed at the shocked guards. There were shouts as he rushed into the room, followed by his entourage of Death Eaters.

He dodged the only spell to be fired easily and swirled towards the source, "_Animus Vastatio!"_ He snarled. The unfortunate guard who took the spell screeched as his skin blackened immediately and he fell to the ground, a mummified corpse in a matter of seconds.

"_Animus Caries!"_ He cried, his spell coming out in three red streaks and hitting four guards. The guards gurgled and wailed, clawing at their heads and faces and succumbing to their afflictions. They too fell.

The effectiveness of the spells pleased Sasha greatly; he _had_ after all spent a great time making them. This was their first site test and so far he couldn't see anything wrong with them. It was possible that he could tweak them to work a little faster but that was for another day and was more a pet project than a necessity.

They had been tricky spells, and dark due to the nature of their attacks, but well worth it. He didn't seem to be all that proficient in the Unforgivables so he was forced to find other, more inventive ways to quickly dispatch of enemies. If nothing else, it meant that most opponents wouldn't know how to deflect them.

His inability to perform the Unforgivables was due, once again, to his strange brand of magic. Voldemort had shook his head on more than one occasion when he noticed Sasha's magic was incorruptible—neither Light nor Dark, it was a perfect shade of grey every time. Only, it was usually slightly darker than light. But it would want to be with the amount of Dark wizards he was constantly surrounded by.

"_Confringo._" Sasha said, pointing at the last two guards in the room and he watched dispassionately as they exploded into flames. He didn't even wait for them to die before he was striding through the room and exited it, entering into a corridor.

"Hey!" Someone shouted.

Turning swiftly, Sasha said, "_Expulso_." And through the blasting curse at the guard without aiming. It hit him dead on and the man left a nasty mess on the surrounding area.

Sasha hurried on. All around him, Death Eaters were firing their own spells at other opponents but Sasha was not needed here, he was required to continue on, to keep pushing forward. He was the front lines on his own. That suited him fine.

It was easier to fight when he didn't have to worry about not hitting his allies. He travelled down the corridors, "_Calx Vena" _He threw a home-made curse over at another confused guard. The man died quickly as his veins turned to stone almost immediately.

He moved on, further into the depths of the prison.

Suddenly, an alarm invaded the air throughout the dark, stone corridors of Azkaban. Finally they realized that there were intruders. That was fine. Frankly, Sasha thought it was about time. Seriously though, how long did it take for them to realize their people were _dying_? Why hadn't someone broken into this place before if it was this easy?

He threw open another door, fired a few more curses and strode through the room. Men and women, weak, horrible creatures cried and wailed, pleading at him to open their doors, to _release_ them, to have mercy. Sasha wouldn't have bothered, but then that wouldn't be his purpose for being there. He walked into the centre of the room, turning a full three-sixty degrees.

He regarded the prisoners with a professional eye, watching their clawing hands and profiles of noses as they pressed themselves close to the bars of their cages, begging for a freedom only he could give them.

He took a moment to enjoy the sound.

The energy in the wails, the pitiful vibrations that shook his eardrums and scratched shivers out of the length of his spine.

It was glorious.

He wished Voldemort was here to experience it.

But the Dark Lord was finding his own experiences and this was up to Sasha. He would make a scene worthy of his master.

"You, the Wretched and Broken, feeble shells of wizards. Scum of the lowest calibre. Filth, Waste, Excrement. Look at you. Worthless. You are nothing. Nothing but a forgotten fly in a spiders web—no—less than that, you are void. Null. Nothing. Disgusting, wretched creatures, stinking of fear and weakness. You rot here each day, each moment. Let Dementors feed on you like snacks, you, weak, infirmed old men. You disgust them; the world and its people. Scum—all of you.

"But it is not your fault, this penance you must pay, this sentence you must carry. You did not throw yourselves in here. No, it was not you. Tell me, brothers, do you blame those that you should? Do you blame the Ministry for its crimes?

"Who put you in here?"

"The Ministry!" They cried.

"Who stripped you of your humanity, your identity, your dignity?"

"The Ministry!" They chanted.

"Who locked you away, threw you in this cesspool, forgot about you as if you were nothing but a speck of filth on a shoe?"

"The Ministry!"

Sasha's eyes travelled to each and every pair he could find. "And who would you take your revenge on?"

"The Ministry!"

"This is not a farce. This is real. The war is here—now. The Dark Lord Voldemort has risen and with him a new day will rise also. We will tear asunder the ministry and all its lies and in its place we will create a new world, a new democracy. A world where these disproportionate punishments will not occur. A world where a man will not be persecuted for being Dark. A world free of the ministry's prejudice and propaganda. A world where you will all be liberated."

The hoards of prisoners roared, the bars on their prisons shaking with the force. Sasha closed his eyes, relishing the moment. When he opened them again, he continued.

"The Dark Lord is coming. The war is here. Now you will make your decision. Where does your allegiance lie? The Light? Those traitors who would let you rot here for the rest of your days? Or the Dark? Whose leader is here personally to see to your freedom. Choose wisely. Fight with us and live or resist and die. The war is at your door and none can remain neutral.

"Allow yourself redemption. Cease your scuttling in the darkness and step into the light, not as fractured shadows but as wizards, men and women, strong and proud and powerful. Seek vengeance. Seek justice. Fight. Join us. And remember the name of your saviour, your master, the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Sasha stood still in a room of chaos where his master's future soldiers cheered and hailed the name Voldemort. He stood proudly, hands clasped behind his back. He waited until the din had died down enough for him to be able to hear himself speak.

"There will be more of our Lord's forces to come. They will release you from your bondage. I must clear the path before us. Sit still for another little while; you will soon have your salvation. And do not forget the man who gave you this freedom."

The cheers didn't stop and the sound only faded as Sasha jogged into the very depths of Azkaban.

Not long after he left the prisoners, Sasha was confronted by a lone figure. He stopped and eyed the person warily. Having just appeared in the corridor before him, Sasha raised his wand, ready to fire a curse.

The figure had his back to Sasha and as he approached, the person turned.

Sasha was faced with the image of a man in a mask. A mask that was the very same as his own. Completely black, entirely blank. A void where a face should be. A hand reached up and took the mask off of itself. Revealed to Sasha was the image of himself.

Once again, like in Hogwarts. Sasha eyed his ghost, his shadow. His duplicate put the mask away and, with a fleeting grin, turned on his heel and ran. Sasha, now knowing to trust this apparition, ran after it, taking his own mask off it the process.

He followed his ghost, turning right then left then left again as it showed him the way to his prize. It was stronger now, even more than before. He could almost hear whispers telling him where to go. As if the image in front of him had a voice of his own and was advising him. But the whispers did not seem male. They were not what he would expect to come out of his own, or his duplicate's, mouth.

He continued to follow his ghost, striking down anything that stood in his way. So far he hadn't seen any sight of Dementors but Voldemort had said they wouldn't show up until later. Sasha had no idea what his master had done to know that they would be around. He suspected that Voldemort had told them to be away. Dementors were, after all, not all loyal to their servitude on Azkaban. They would much rather roam the British country-side.

In front of him, the spectre stopped jogging. Sasha too, slowed down. He strode to catch up, walking quickly passed it, giving the ghost one last glance before it disappeared altogether.

It was a small, dark corridor. Dank and ominous—much more so than the others. Sasha inclined his head slightly. This was the correct place, all right. The real reason for Voldemort coming here. Not those pathetic, half-dead prisoners behind him, no, they weren't important. Yes, they would be used in the war, but every army needed bodies and Voldemort's was no different. The bodies, however, were just that—bulk, cannon fodder.

Sasha had no qualms about them surviving, but he doubted they'd manage it. Especially since Voldemort didn't seem to care either way. And if his master didn't care, there was very little chance they would be put to careful use.

He moved into the shadows of another room. His step faltered very slightly as he sensed the other being in the room. Moving inside, just before a set of pure silver bars, Sasha stopped.

The creature in its cage shuffled in the darkness. It's bulky body moving slowly, but with a deadly grace that Sasha could appreciate.

The sound of air inhaled into monster lungs, rasped deeply throughout the room. "What's this I smell?" A sinister voice breathed, still moving within the shadows, keeping his cards close to his chest.

The darkness of the cell was impenetrable and Sasha could only guess where the creature was at any one time, only hearing the slightest disturbances as it moved. Sasha was acutely aware that the creature held some sort of advantage over him purely because of the shadows and he was left searching fruitlessly for any sign of where the other was. Frankly, it was in Sasha's nature to want to be in the darkness himself and watch some unsuspecting person from within them. He didn't like that the roles were reversed.

Sasha held his nerve and refused to show any discomfort at the situation.

Eventually, the creature in the cage moved forward into the half-light, his face barely seen. It was enough though. Sasha could clearly see who he was. Not that he hadn't known before.

"Fenrir Greyback." Sasha greeted formally with a respectful nod of his head.

The werewolf king took his first step out of the shadows and moved towards the bars, stopping a safe distance from the harmful silver. He regarded Sasha with interest, his eyes running up and down his lithe body. He smirked lecherously, baring his teeth and running his tongue over them.

"Who's this little morsel then, hmm?"

Sasha resisted the urge to sigh, "A follower of the Dark Lord. Azkaban is under siege; the defences are obliterated, soon this place will fall."

Fenrir eyes fell to Sasha's exposed arm. "You're no Death Eater."

"No." Sasha agreed.

"It's been my experience that Dark Lords don't like to have their minions running around without a leash."

"I'm not a typical minion." Sasha replied.

Fenrir took his time in studying Sasha, his eyes narrowed and his head ever so slightly cocked to the right.

"You don't seem like a typical anything. Why do you smell different? It's not a scent I've ever come across in a person before." Fenrir prowled in his cage, taking slow, deliberate, predatory steps up and back the length of his confines. He sniffed the air a few times to fully explore the scent that he found so unusual.

So he didn't smell normal, did he not? Sasha would have liked to ask what he smelled similar to, but he somehow doubted Fenrir would know.

"I'm not..." What wasn't he? He didn't even know himself, "I'm not like other wizards, that's all you need to know. But this isn't about me. It's about you. And my master. And what he can offer you."

Fenrir stopped. "The Dark Lord can offer nothing that I want—unless it's you, of course; I could use you." He smirked lecherously.

Sasha didn't miss the suggestive tone and body language. But he ignored it. He neither had the desire, energy nor time to go around and appeal to this man's sexual frustration. He gave Fenrir a bored look and continued on. "The next best thing, I assure you," He retorted, "How about your freedom? Your revenge? The ability to rejoin your pack?"

Fenrir regarded him for a long time, guarded and hard to read. "Would you let me go, if you knew what I'd do once I got out?" He asked, inching forward a little more, raising himself to his full height, "I have certain acquired... tastes... with regards to entertainment—children in particular. I enjoy _doing_ things to them; ripping them open, tearing them apart, scratching, biting, breaking. I make them scream. Turn them into werewolves, kill their families in front of them. Destroy their lives. Do you think you can stomach that, hmm?"

This time, Sasha did sigh. He crossed his arms and looked to the side, a frown on his features. "I don't know why you think I care. What you do is your own business. Being in Voldemort's company means I see a lot of bad people doing a lot of bad things—and I've done some of them myself—so why would you think I would care that you have a taste for children? For all we care, you can feast on a banquet of them every night if you want—as long as you join us, of course."

"What if I refuse anyway?"

Sasha didn't blink. "Then I leave here this second and you rot here and starve to death in your cage."

"If the Dark Lord sent you here to entice me, you're not giving a particularly big effort." Fenrir said.

Running a hand through his hair, Sasha said, "Either you'll join us or you won't. Nothing I can say or do will change that."

"Well," Fenrir said suggestively, "I'm sure I could find a few things for you to do."

Sasha was sure there were. But he wasn't willing—or that desperate—to do anything that Fenrir was implying. There were better, easier and frankly preferable ways to win people over.

Admittedly, what Sasha was about to do probably wasn't one of them.

"If you think for a moment my expertise lies in that area, you are sorely mistaken. And an idiot. I'm not some carrot to dangle in front of you. My job is not to tempt you with anything other than what Voldemort has offered. Since you're clearly incapable of appreciating what's been put on the table..."

Sasha shrugged, turned on his heel and made to leave the room.

"Don't you want to know what you smell like?" Fenrir called after him.

Sasha did. He really, really, really did want to know. But that wasn't his job here. Voldemort had not said anything about that and Sasha knew he wouldn't appreciate him finding out when he should be recruiting people to their cause.

"No, I don't." Sasha lied, continuing to leave the room.

"Wait!" Fenrir growled, "Wait, I'll consider your offer."

Breathing a subtle sigh of relief, Sasha stopped walking and turned around. He moved back to the cell. "Okay." Sasha said.

Fenrir looked at him strangely. "First tell me why you don't want to know your scent."

"What does it matter?"

"You don't know what you are, do you?"

Sasha paused. "How do you figure that?" He asked cautiously.

Humphing, Fenrir touched his nose. "I can smell you. Along with that scent of yours, you smell like a lost little puppy that don't know where it's supposed to be."

"What do I smell like?" Sasha asked after a very long time.

Fenrir allowed himself a short, triumphant grin. "Old things." He said.

Sasha didn't know what he was expecting, but that wasn't it. He grimaced. "I smell like old things?" He repeated. "Like, old people and stuff?"

Fenrir laughed. "No, not like 'old people and stuff'. Ancient things. The same way the mountains and the sea and sky smell."

Frowning, Sasha said, "They don't smell."

"Not to you they don't."

"I see." Sasha breathed.

He had to fight down another wave of frustration. One more answer and now a hundred other questions. Old things, Fenrir said. But how would Sasha have merited a scent that was as ancient as the werewolf claimed?

Sasha decided to change the subject. "You said you would consider our offer." He said.

"Yes."

"So you'll join us?" Sasha asked.

"No. I don't think so."

Sasha's expression darkened. "And why is that?" He demanded.

Fenrir sniggered gleefully, liking how he still had some power over Sasha. "I don't need to give a reason."

"So you want to rot here? You want to stay with all the dead wardens? Starve while we reach glory?" Sasha paused, "Fine then. We don't need you. We have the support of other werewolves already; you would have been a good ally to have, but you were never necessary. If you have no desire to consider our offer then I have wasted my time and will do so no more."

"Which werewolves?" Fenrir demanded quickly.

"All of them." Sasha said, challenging the werewolf to object, "We offered them freedom, life without persecution and fear of the ministry. They were all clever enough to see reason."

Fenrir scowled as he considered something. "...And my pack?"

"Are eagerly awaiting your return." Sasha finished.

Narrowed eyes studied the form of Sasha, searching for anything that would point to a lie. There was none. "You drive a hard bargain."

Sasha shrugged. "When it's requirement of me."

Fenrir laughed, "A good slave." He said.

Sasha was unperturbed. "Well, that's required of me as well."

"What will happen if I agree?" Fenrir asked, contemplatively, crossing his arms.

"I will let you out of this cage."

Fenrir scowled. "I mean in the long run."

Sasha had purposely misconstrued the werewolf's meaning. Anything he told the man would be a lie. Truth was, Sasha didn't know what Voldemort planned after this. He hadn't been around to learn of the long-term plans concerning werewolves. Oh, he knew they would fight, but he didn't know what would happen after that. Would Voldemort give the werewolves free-reign once he created his new kingdom? Sasha didn't know.

"You'll receive a glorious fate, I'm sure." Sasha sighed melodramatically.

Snarling, Fenrir loomed, "Don't lie to me, pup," He warned, "I can smell a lie a mile away."

Sasha shrugged, "I don't know what happens after that; I _am_ just a slave, after all." Sasha said, "But if you're worried I'm sure you can negotiate with the Dark Lord."

That was a lie. He hadn't tried to hide it and Fenrir hadn't bothered to point out that he knew it was what it was. They stared at each other for a long time.

"I won't take the Dark mark." Fenrir said.

Sasha shook his head. "You won't have to. Voldemort doesn't want your servitude, only your allegiance."

"He wants _your_ servitude."

"I'm different."

"But you're not marked." Fenrir said.

"No."

"Why?"

Sasha sighed. "Like I said; I'm different."

Fenrir was quiet for a moment.

"So what happens now?" He asked.

Sasha gave an enigmatic smile. He turned his head slightly to the side and his attention focused inwards. Fenrir watched him do so, wondering why. He soon found out what was happening.

Voldemort's red eyes emanating through the shadows were the first thing that alerted Fenrir to another presence in the room. Which was strange considering it was usually smells or sounds. The Dark Lord all but floated over to Sasha, suddenly wrapping an arm around his neck.

It wasn't so much a protective gesture as it was a possessive one.

It was basic, animalistic, barbaric almost. It was a gesture that all three of them recognised and respected. Sasha was off-limits to everyone but Voldemort. Fenrir's eyes followed the situation thoughtfully, meeting the Dark Lord's eyes and giving him a subtle nod. He had played with Sasha before, but he wasn't going to outwardly make a challenge for the Dark Lord's property.

Just as fluidly as the Dark Lord snaked his arm around Sasha's neck, he removed it and moved closer to the bars. This was Voldemort's forte; looking powerful and omnipotent and swaying others to his cause when it was through admiration or terror.

"Fenrir Greyback." Voldemort greeted.

"Voldemort." Fenrir replied.

They spent a moment seizing each other up. Sasha supposed that was inevitable; two alpha males in the same room were always bound to cause some sort of stir between them. Had Voldemort been any other person with a little less control, Sasha was sure that this meeting wouldn't be quite so civilised.

"Sasha." Voldemort said eventually, effectively catching his attention without so much as a turn of his head, "Go see if there are any guards left and kill them. I want this place deserted by the time we're finished here."

Sasha nodded, and, giving Fenrir one last look, he stalked away, leaving Voldemort to whatever course of action he chose to take.

He didn't miss that his lord had taken out his wand before Sasha left.

Voldemort's wand was a point of interest to Sasha. Despite him recovering Voldemort's old wand, the Dark Lord had continued to use his newer one. For whatever reason, the red cypress wand suited him better now. Sasha wasn't sure what to feel on that account; on the one hand, his gift had been unused, on the other hand, Voldemort stuck with the wand that was brother to his own. A mystery to be sure, but Sasha shouldn't have been bothering himself with such things then. He had a job to do.

He travelled down the other corridors, killing a few remaining guards, but for the most part, he met no one. The place was mostly deserted now. The Death Eaters had done a good job. He wandered through the place, bored.

At least, that was until he came across the Dementors. They had purposely gone missing upon Voldemort's request. Now, they were back. The corridor Sasha was walking down suddenly got cold. Downright frosty, in fact. Sasha had never met a Dementor before, but he recognised the signs of their coming.

It didn't take long for them to appear.

Floating down the hall, they appeared in hoards, travelling towards him with the lazy pace of a creature entirely in its element. Sasha knew they were told to leave Voldemort's servants alone, but even still, he kept his wand ready, just in case.

Frankly, Sasha didn't know if he could conjure up a Patronus charm even if he had to. He had never tried it before—he never thought he'd need to. Gripping his wand tighter, knuckles turning white, Sasha readied himself.

The Dementors drifted by him silently, entirely uninterested in him.

He breathed out in relief as the last few went by. He stayed, frozen, waiting for the feeling of utter frigidness to pass. Only, just as it was about to recede, the feeling returned and intensified. Slowly, he turned his head, eyed moving over to the Dementor he knew was there.

The creature had turned right around and moved back to Sasha, its cloaked head down low, curious, and its long fingers reaching out towards him. Then, Sasha turned fully, facing the Dementor completely.

Taking a steadying breath, Sasha made the decision to stay motionless. Even as he did, he was sure it was the wrong choice. Still, there was always the opportunity to change tactics if he moved quickly.

But the Dementor did not attack. It moved in close, its bony claws inches from his chest and then from his throat and face, but never touching. Under the hood, Sasha could just about see the creatures deformed face, lacking in all the features that would have made it human.

A curious creature, it twitched its head and shifted, floating from side to side to get a more complete study of him. Sasha followed its movements with his eyes but stayed as still as possible.

He didn't know what the Dementor was doing and he wasn't going to do anything that could be misconstrued as aggressive. It was true that Voldemort had forbidden the creatures to touch his minions, but how trustworthy could they be? How intelligent were they? Sasha had always thought that they weren't entirely all that sentient. More of a hive mind, acting as one.

But this one was different. It seemed smarter somehow, more alert. Perhaps this was a leader.

Strangely, the creature's presence was not having the effect he imagined. He was cold, yes. He was downright frozen. But he wasn't saddened. He didn't feel drained of happiness. He was somehow unaffected by the Dementor.

Perhaps it knew this and was curious because of it? Sasha himself, was curious. He didn't know if the Dementors could control their abilities but Sasha had never gotten the impression that they could. At least, before that moment he had thought so.

Those long fingers withdrew from their almost touching and the Dementor emitted one of the oddest sounds Sasha had ever heard. Whispery and wheezy, it seemed that the Dementor was laughing.

Then, as puzzlingly as it approached, the creature left, floating off down the corridor, following the group that had long since gone.

Sasha watched it go and then disappear into the darkness. The room steadily got warmer as the Dementors travelled further away and Sasha blew out a long breath of air, glad the creature had left.

But why had it stopped?

_You smell like old things..._

Had Fenrir truly been right? And could that be the reason? Did the Dementor recognise his scent? Did it know what he was? He didn't have answers for any of those questions and he wouldn't get them hanging around a damp corridor.

It was time to move on.

After a few minutes of moving through the long corridors, Sasha found a door.

He opened it slowly; cautious of what might be at the other side, waiting for him. A courtyard was revealed to him.

It was quiet. The moon's rays were illuminating the cobbled stones and the puddles of mud scattered about the area. Sasha gave a cursory glance around the courtyard and shrugged, finding nothing of any interest. He stepped into it and began to make his way to the other side where he had spotted a door.

It shouldn't have taken long for him to get there.

But Sasha never made it.

A barrage of... _something_ hit him suddenly. The strength of it forced him to his knees. He gasped. The sensation was so strong that it took all of his energy just to figure out exactly _what_ he was experiencing.

Gravity bore down on him. His brain throbbed in his head, his heart felt too hot and too clumsy, his eyes burned so he closed them. It took him a moment to steel himself enough to reopen his eyes. He recoiled as sight returned to him.

Everywhere. They were everywhere.

Ghosts, spectres.

Things that he had used before as an aid were now blocking his view of the door less than a hundred metres in front of him. There were too many to count; a two guards walking across the courtyard, chatting animatedly, a woman holding a child, looking around nervously, a boy wailing to the sky. More than that; prisoners being pushed and shoved and beaten and killed. And what was worse, in front of him, inches from his nose, a woman on her knees, howling and screaming silently, her nails tearing at the skin around her blood-shot eyes.

Sasha began to pant as his heart sped up to a speed that shouldn't have been possible.

"Stop it..." He breathed, clutching his head, "Stop!"

A second later, he actually _felt_ something click in his head. There was a sudden rush of relief and Sasha could breathe again. He exhaled when he realised that he was alone once more and all of the ghosts had gone. He sighed with relief, his body sagging gratefully on the damp ground.

He felt warmth on his upper lip.

Sasha brought his hand up and wiped away whatever was on his skin. He frowned as he took the appendage away and saw blood. His nose was bleeding.

_Drip, drip, drip._

A lot, it seemed.

He stayed in that same position for a long time, listening to the sound of his blood hit the stone. He supposed he could have taken out his wand and cast a relatively simple spell, fixing the problem, but really, what was the point?

He needed a moment to compose himself.

He was scared. Bloody scared and he was man enough to admit it. What the hell was happening to him? Was he dying? It certainly felt as if he was. Not now, obviously, but back then. And what was up with those ghosts? Before he had only ever seen one; him. This time he had seen hundreds, from different times, places and yet all here. Were they past visitors of Azkaban? And if so, why did he see them?

Sasha didn't have answers and he really, really wished he did.

He didn't know what to do. Should he tell Voldemort? Would the man even be able to do anything to help him? Then there was the issue of the Elixir of Life. Would the Dark Lord try to push it on him now that he was going through this?

No, he couldn't have that. He would have to keep this quiet. At least for awhile.

Sasha shakily got to his feet, rubbed his nose which had thankfully stopped bleeding, and ran a hand through his hair.

He felt a little shaky, a little weak, but all in all, he was okay. He straightened his clothing, checked his wand and continued on his path. With any luck, they would soon be finished.

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><p>Meanings of the spells:<p>

_Aperio_=Open

_Confundo_=Disorder

_Animus Vastatio_=Soul Devastation

_Animus Caries_=Soul Decay

_Calx Vena_= Stone veins


	18. Chapter 17

_Hey guys, thanks again for the reviews and hits and all that. Also, thank you very much for all your help on my little summary situation. What I've decided to do is keep the summary but put a longer, slightly less vague one at the first chapter. Yay! Thank you for all your advice._

_Anyway, this chapter is short and frankly unimpressive. Sorry for taking so long to put it up when I promised it would be here fairly promptly. The next chapter needs an awful lot of work so it might take a little while also, I'm afraid._

_Enjoy!_

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><p>...<p>

_Chapter 17_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Victories were always important to celebrate.

Voldemort understood this and arranged for one such celebration in honour of their recent success in Azkaban. It was two weeks after the day, of course, with all the new troops needing time to regain their strength; it would have been pointless to have it any sooner.

They had been on other excursions between now and the Azkaban annex, and Sasha supposed that they were being honoured tonight as well. However, it was Azkaban that was on everyone's lips. The Death Eaters who had fought in the battle were boasting or nostalgically recounting their actions of that night. The new recruits were looking on, some with awe, some with fear, some with the sense to know their new allies were exaggerating shamelessly.

Fenrir Greyback was one of those new recruits.

He was standing propped against a pillar, an empty glass in his hand, barely looking at the Death Eater, Goyle senior, who was recounting his heroic deeds; deeds that were completely fabricated. He looked ready to die. His expression suggested that he was about to do something heroic like get rid of Goyle or himself; whichever came first and would relieve the pain quickest.

Fenrir was the sort of creature that would be too proud to ask for help. Sasha could see that, but he took pity on the werewolf anyway and walked over to him, giving him the aid he so clearly needed.

"Leave." Sasha ordered from beneath his mask.

The Death Eater paled, nodded, bowed, and hurried away.

"Thanks." Fenrir grunted, watching the cause of his pain leave.

Sasha smirked softly. "Don't mention it. Most of them are completely intolerable. But they're not all bad. Even still, the main downside of joining us is that you'll have to deal with them every now and then." He said.

"I can see that. Never saw so much pomp in my life." Fenrir grinned. "Don't mind dealing with you though."

Rolling his eyes, Sasha crossed his arms. "If you keep talking like that, you may not get many more chances to do so." He glanced over at Voldemort who was watching him and Fenrir intently from his throne.

Fenrir followed the line of Sasha's sight. "He keeps a tight leash on you." The werewolf commented.

"It'd be tighter if he had his way."

Sasha frowned suddenly and brought a hand to his chest, feeling a tightness there that hadn't been before. He took his hand away before anyone noticed but grimaced beneath his mask at the insistent pain.

"I was under the impression that you had free reign."

Sasha 'hmphed', "I do." He said, "With terms and conditions. Same as you, I imagine."

"Tell me, why is the Dark Lord so interested in one little boy, hmm?"

"You'd have to ask him." Sasha said, moving his head to the side, trying to ease the dull ache that was slowly building up in his neck.

He swallowed and fought against a sudden nausea that threatened to rise.

"Reckon it's got something to do with that scent of yours. Never smelt anythin' like you before."

"I wouldn't know."

"I'm sure one of you knows something about it. I suppose he's researched it then, Voldemort?"

"Like I said; you'd have to ask him."

Fenrir huffed. "Somehow I don't think he's going to answer me."

Sasha agreed with him wholeheartedly; Voldemort would probably put him under a _Crucio_ just for the asking. "You're right, of course," He replied, "Most Death Eaters have to learn that the hard way."

"I ain't a Death Eater, remember?" Fenrir said.

"True enough," Sasha said with a sudden distractedness, turning again to look at Voldemort with a frown. "I'm afraid we're going to have to continue this later."

"Yeah I know," Fenrir grumbled, "Your master's calling, right? Run along then."

Voldemort hadn't spoken or even moved, but Sasha nodded. Voldemort wished for his presence, he could sense it as easily as if the man had smacked him in the back of his head and told him to get a move on. It wasn't something he could easily ignore.

"Enjoy the rest of the party." Sasha said to Fenrir as he moved through the crowds of people, walking towards the Dark Lord. On his way, Bellatrix caught his eye, giving him a knowing look as he went by before she turned her back and continued speaking to her husband.

Sasha licked his lips, trying to rid himself of the dryness. It felt as if he was dehydrated. His head pounded, he felt too warm, his mouth felt like he had cotton wool in it. He must have caught something.

He bowed his head in respect to the Dark Lord and moved to sit on the vacant chair next to his throne. Sasha's eyes travelled over the scene in front of him, the men and women talking and laughing in groups scattered around the ballroom. They were all dressed in their best and after a good few hours of drinking, they were animated and loud.

It was hard to believe that these people were the country's most feared beings.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Voldemort asked behind the hand that was propped up on his chair.

Sasha nodded, "As much as usual." He said, meaning that he really wasn't. Parties weren't Sasha's thing. He'd much rather be doing _anything_ else. Still, they needed to be done and his presence was something Voldemort usually required. Considering that, Sasha felt obliged to attend.

"What was the werewolf saying to you?"

There was a darkness in Voldemort's voice that made Sasha look over at him. "Jealous?" He joked.

Voldemort turned to regard him. Deep red eyes burned with a surprising intensity. He didn't answer, but he hadn't needed to; Sasha got the message loud and clear.

If he was any more affected, he might have blushed. "There's no need to be. I was just saving him from Goyle's attention. We _do_ want Greyback on our side, after all, don't we?"

"Indeed." There were no outward signs to say the Dark Lord was amused, but Sasha could sense that he was.

Sasha sighed and shifted the mask on his face. It was bothering him particularly today; he didn't know why. Perhaps the charms were wearing off; Sasha found it quite difficult to get a proper breath.

Voldemort noted the action. "Soon." He promised, "Soon you will not have to hide your face from the world. You will be able to stand at my side as you are. But not just yet. I want to make sure the end is in sight before I reveal all my cards."

Sasha nodded. The mask was as much protection for him as it was an advantage for Voldemort. Had Sasha not worn the mask all these years in front of the Death Eaters, he may not have been able to go into Hogwarts and do what needed to be done. He may also have been targeted. It had been a good thing to keep his identity hidden. Even if Sasha was sick of it.

"I understand." He told Voldemort. "The sooner the better, frankly."

Voldemort's lips quirked ever so slightly, "I wonder," He mused quietly, "What my Death Eaters will think of taking orders from such a young child."

It was true that the mask made him look older—or at least hid the extent of his youth. Sasha wondered too how they would take the undoubted insult. He imagined a great deal of effort would have to go in to convincing them that he was not someone to mess with. Of course, all of the Inner Circle already knew who he was, so that, at least, meant there were a few people he would not have to worry about.

Sasha didn't think he would ever have been so grateful for Lucius Malfoy knowing exactly who he was. Malfoy was influential even among the Death Eaters. When in Voldemort's ranks, he was someone you wanted to have with you. Then again, so was Bellatrix. Which was exactly why Voldemort _did_ have them.

Sasha knew he was lucky to have them also, even if it was less entirely than with the Dark Lord.

"They'll resent it—of course," Sasha muttered, eyes going over them all, "But they'll have to accept it either way."

"Speaking of accepting things," Voldemort said so offhandedly that it couldn't be anything but suspicious, "When will you accept my gift to you?"

Sasha tensed.

Voldemort's 'gift' was the Elixir of Life.

"It is not a gift I wish to accept." Sasha whispered stiffly.

"Nonetheless," Voldemort said with narrowed eyes, "I am giving it to you."

Their whole conversation was quiet, so quiet that no one could possibly hear them. That didn't stop Sasha glancing around with paranoia though. His brain rushed towards an answer that would keep the Dark Lord at bay for another little while.

"I..." His voice caught in his throat. He looked down and gave a soft shake of his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes. He didn't have an answer for Voldemort; he had no smart response or clever distraction. He had only the truth. Tasteless as it was. "I'm not ready for this." He admitted.

Voldemort's features darkened. He scowled. "This is _war_, Sasha; we don't have time for you to feel _ready_."

Sasha gave a slight grimace; Voldemort wasn't pleased. He felt cowed. Yet the more he thought about it, the more belligerent he became. His head was starting to throb more now, there was a pressure that hadn't been there before and his joints were beginning to ache. His hands shook visibly.

"It's not the right time for this." Sasha told his master, standing up swiftly. "Excuse me."

In a moment of distracted weakness, he brought a hand to his chest as he left the scene. Red eyes followed the movement curiously, musing upon the strangeness of the action and what could have caused it.

Sasha left the ballroom quickly, breaking out in a cold sweat as his body shuddered with a jolt of rheumatoid agony. He felt as if he was coming down with the flu. But that was impossible, it shouldn't happen so suddenly.

As he stumbled through the corridors and into his room, Sasha wondered if he was dying. Was this some sort of magical virus or curse or something? It would explain so much; the headaches, the tiredness, the hallucinations.

Sasha tore the mask off of his face and threw it away.

He barely made it to the centre of the room before he gave a cry and fell to his knees. His nose was bleeding again; his eyes squeezed shut as that pressure in his head built up to levels that were unmanageable. His breathing sped up and he experienced that overwhelming sensation that had so crippled him not two weeks ago in Azkaban.

When he opened his eyes, he would have gasped if he had the breath. Before his eyes there was nothing—and yet at the same time, it was everything.

His room had transformed from a physical reality to that of a biological matrix. Particles of intelligence ran through everything; the wall, the ceiling, the wardrobe, the window. He spotted his arm and stared. His skin seemed transparent. His veins were bright—luminous almost—and transporting more than just blood but light also, light, knowledge, intelligence and life.

In its own way, it was beautiful.

But he had no time to process things like that.

He cried out as the information became too much for his mind to handle. It buckled under the constant, relentless stream of stimuli. Sasha clenched his eyes shut, on the verge of crying with an equal measure of fear and pain.

And when he thought it couldn't get any worse—it did.

Along with the visual stimulus, he began to hear something—several somethings. Too many to distinguish. Voices, screams, cries. Words in a language he had never heard before. Or maybe just mindless babbles. The voices were too ethereal to actually exist and yet they did. His ears burned with the cacophony of wailing noises.

His hands grasped his head, alternating between his throbbing crown and his burning ears. He was sure there would be blood there too, had he the mind to check.

Amid the tortuous discord, Sasha was oblivious to the sudden presence of another person until they were upon him. He flinched as a cool hand lay on his back and rubbed his burning skin soothingly. He sighed in relief when he figured it must have been Voldemort.

But something niggled in the back of his over-wrought brain and even within the overwhelming sensations; Sasha felt a disharmonious note with the contact. He suddenly didn't want that hand anywhere near him; it wasn't right somehow. Voldemort's hands had long, spidery fingers. This hand was different; there was strength in the build, with shorter fingers splayed across his skin.

This was not Voldemort.

Sasha was utterly vulnerable in the presence of a complete stranger. Despite all that he was dealing with, he knew he had to get away. He recoiled from the touch, trying to will his body to forget its suffering and focus on survival. He managed to shuffle away slightly before strong arms grasped him and pulled him close to an equally strong chest.

"No..." Sasha gasped, trying to make sense of everything, "_No!"_ He cried as he flailed helplessly in the confines of this man's arms.

"Shh... It's alright." A soft voice spoke beyond the clamouring. "You're okay."

Sasha couldn't focus on the voice, encased in his own panic.

It brought him back. Back to a time when he was equally as helpless, equally vulnerable, and equally at the mercy of a much stronger man. The orphanage was a dark part of his life, one that he didn't like to dwell on. Had he been able to, he would have erased all those memories from his mind. As it was, all he could do was repress them on a day to day basis.

Being where he was now though, any defences against his memories were flayed open and left helpless on the floor.

In his confusion, he was six years old again, locked in that tiny little room, surrounded by absolute darkness, rats scurrying around, spiders crawling over his cheek, and a man. He was a pitch black silhouette against the light of the doorway as he kicked Sasha one more time, leaving the boy gasping and wheezing.

"I'm sorry." The words his six year old self and his present self mumbled to the air.

The man who was holding him did not reply to the statement, instead he muttered, "Rest now." And Sasha felt two fingers gently rest on his forehead.

His vision dimmed mercifully, the wails and howls became whispers. His heart slowed down to a normal pace and he felt his consciousness drift and then fade.

Paveh Drux held his son in his arms, looking down at his now sleeping form. He noted sadly that this was the first time they had ever touched. "It's okay." He said to Sasha, even though Paveh knew that he was asleep now and would not hear his father's words.

His hand moved to brush the hair from Sasha's eyes.

His moment with his son was interrupted as the door to the room flew open and a wide-eyed Dark Lord burst into the room, looking both confused and enraged. He spotted Sasha in the arms of the man and in one fell motion he swung his readied wand towards Paveh shouting "_Crucio!"_

It only took a fraction of a second to reach the place where the mysterious stranger was kneeling on the ground, but in that time, both he and Sasha had disappeared.

Voldemort was left staring at nothing but a burnt patch of carpet, utterly dumbfounded. "No..." He breathed in shock.

Sasha. He was gone. "No!" He roared in the empty room, his voice full of terrible fury and agony.

Sasha was gone...

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><p><em>Also, thanks to Martel and vdv and the person named Review for their reviews!<em>


	19. Chapter 18

_Phew, did this take forever or what? Sorry for the delay. There was a ton of editing needed for this chapter and I had very little spare time to do it. The new summary is up on the prologue if anyone is interested but it's not that amazing so I wouldn't really bother with it too much. I hope you enjoy!_

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><p><em><span>Chapter 18<span>_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Whispers in the air.

No longer shouts and screams, wails and whines, but whispers. Unsettling, yes. Irritating, yes. Unmanageable? No, not at all. Sasha could deal with whispers. Whispers never hurt anyone. It was the whispers that awoke him and coaxed him back into awareness.

He shifted underneath the covers of a bed he was unfamiliar with. The sheets were crisp and new and rustled softly every time he shuffled. His eyes were heavy with tiredness but he opened them anyway. It took a few moments of blinking before they actually worked, but when they did, he was surprised to find where he was.

It was a room Sasha had never been in before. It was respectable, but bare and without much of a personal touch; white walls, wooden floor, a bed, a chair to the side of it and little else. Not that he was too worried about that. He was more worried about why he was there. He remembered all too clearly what happened before he had been forcefully put to sleep.

Falling to his knees with the overwhelming sensations had not been something he would easily forget. The agony of having too much information forced through his head was not exactly pleasant and being helpless in the company of a stranger was downright creepy.

He wasn't in pain now, not uncomfortable either—other than a little grogginess from sleeping—but his previous condition had left him utterly vulnerable and this, apparently, was the price. Sensing that he was alone, Sasha shuffled upwards into a seating position on the bed, looking around even more fully, studying the confines of the space.

His joints burned, his muscles strained and his bones creaked as if he had been sleeping in one position for too long. Whatever had happened to him had really done a number on his body.

As he moved, Sasha looked down at himself and saw that he wasn't wearing the clothes he had on him before. Which was undeniably creepy. Who would undress and redress him? He frowned as he tried to think back to his attack and figure out what might have happened.

He had vague recollections of cool hands rubbing his back, restraining him. A soft voice muttering to him. It wasn't Voldemort. Sasha didn't know who it was. An uneasy part of him refused to admit that the stranger's presence had lessened the pain ever-so-slightly anyway. But whoever it was, they were clearly not as altruistic as they first appeared to Sasha.

Sasha pursed his lips.

He had to get out of there.

The covers of the bed were thrown off by an efficient backhand and he hopped out of it, falling to his knees in surprise as his legs gave out weakly under him. It didn't hurt, but he ended up staying on the ground for a long time, genuinely surprised by his feebleness. He was young, strong and in the peak of his health. Why then, was he on the floor on his hands and knees?

Shaking his head, Sasha carefully inched his way back to his feet, testing the tired, frail muscles of his legs. They shook pathetically as he swayed softly, hands out to keep his balance. Slowly his muscles grew stronger and his legs became steadier.

He felt the need to quickly leave but he knew that he had to get this sorted out first. He took a few cautious steps, which turned to slow pacing and then to a quick succession of strides.

A satisfied quirk of his lips came with the decision that he was ready to go on.

He moved through the room, towards the door. It was locked and Sasha wasn't surprised, but his hand immediately went to his side where he always held his wand or a knife. Neither of them was there.

"Of course, idiot." He muttered to himself. He should have known that he would be disarmed.

But with the lack of his wand, Sasha felt another absence; that of his magic. He couldn't feel it within himself. Or rather, he could feel it, but it was dim and quiet, hidden behind an impenetrable fog within him.

Sasha looked back down at himself as if it would be of any help. It wasn't. There were no physical signs of why he might or might not be able to activate his magic and Sasha had to assume there was some sort of spell cast on him. If there actually was, Sasha couldn't fathom which one or how to remove it.

Until he got it off of him though, he wasn't going anywhere. Unless, of course, his captor came back. Frankly, he'd rather stay in the room, but he didn't think he was getting a choice in that. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Sasha spotted a chair near the bed.

He walked over and sat himself down, resting his head on his hand as he thought. Was there any way to break an anti-magic spell on yourself? He doubted it. But he knew he would have to try either way.

Sasha would have spent time devising a way to get rid of his metaphysical bondage but he was rudely interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the door. It creaked open and a man appeared in the doorway.

He had seen this man before.

He knew him.

Sasha stood up slowly, his green eyes studying him intently. He didn't speak, but his thoughts were flying.

This was the man who had appeared to him in Hogwarts, he was sure. _This_ was him.

"You're awake." The man said, shutting the door behind him. With a wave of his hand the door clicked with the sound of being locked. Sasha stiffened. A locked door and a strange man were never a good thing. The man seemed to sense this and stopped his slow approach. He held up his hands.

"It's okay." He assured Sasha, "You're not in any danger here."

"Who are you?" Sasha demanded sharply with a scowl.

The man looked as if he might not answer, as if he might try and coax Sasha into something else instead. But he didn't. "My name is Paveh Drux." He said.

It was an odd name but Sasha didn't think it meant anything to him. "You appeared to me in Hogwarts." He said.

"...Yes."

"And when I took the _Expiscor Intentus_?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sasha watched as Paveh Drux looked away. He took the time to study the older man. He couldn't have been in his thirties yet. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall and striking in his looks. Sasha felt a strong sense of familiarity and unease simultaneously. It set his teeth on edge, made him jumpy. The man didn't seem threatening but appearances could be deceiving; after all, Sasha didn't exactly scream right hand man to a Dark Lord when his mask was off.

"I was trying to protect you, keep you safe from the others."

"Safe?" Sasha asked, his voice rising high with disbelief. "So you kidnap me? You..." Sasha paused, suddenly getting a flash of the intense helplessness that he had felt back in Voldemort's mansion. He had been so overwhelmed by so much. What he had experienced shouldn't have been possible.

"Did you drug me?" He accused with a snarl.

Paveh Drux shook his head quickly. "No. I was protecting you; you were beginning to awaken, to grow into your powers. You would have died if I had left you there."

Sasha took a step backwards, lifting his head in defiance. His chest moved rapidly up and down with his confused and frustrated breaths. "How? What do you mean?"

Drux looked sad and somehow determined at the same time. "You were vulnerable, too weak; they would have been alerted to your awakening. You wouldn't have been able to defend yourself against them in that state. I sensed that you were coming of age first, they still don't know. I had to do something; I couldn't leave you to them. "

"Leave me to who?"

"The others. The rest of us."

"Why? Why bother? What's it to you if I live or die?" Sasha demanded, suspicious of the man's actions.

Paveh licked his lips with discomfort. This was the crux of it, this was what he had waited so long to say—and dreaded every minute of it.

"There is a rule among our race," He said slowly, carefully, "When we're in pain or danger or distress—if it's strong enough our Blood will call to our Blood, but if Blood fails to come, Blood calls to Kindred. Finally, if there is no answer, Blood calls to the closet Outsider. That Dark Lord of yours would have been the last to know. He would never have been able to protect you. You'd be dead and gone before he even got a whiff of what was happening."

Sasha tried to grasp what was being said to him. He shook his head, unable to make out the meaning. "What does that even mean?" He asked, an odd note of vulnerability creeping into his voice. Nothing made sense. He just didn't understand any of it.

Paveh didn't miss the vulnerability. "I'm your father." He said bluntly.

Sasha flinched violently, denial immediately on his lips. Despite the desire to shout out and call him a liar, Sasha kept his mouth firmly pressed, waiting. He watched Paveh for any sign that he might be lying, studied the genuine expression and imploring body language.

Sasha didn't know what he had expected the man to say but a proclamation of parenthood had not been it. He didn't know how to deal with such a surprising answer. He tried to think. Could the man have any benefit in lying to him about this? Was it was trap maybe? Some sort of hoax? A joke even? Was it even possible that it could be the truth?

This man, this Paveh Drux didn't look as if he was lying. But could Sasha have missed something? It was always possible; he wasn't perfect, after all.

He stared at the man who claimed to have sired him. Dark hair. Like him, he supposed. Dark eyes. That wasn't like him, but he supposed he _did_ have a mother out there somewhere. Tall. Sasha too, was tall—though not as much as him but then, Sasha still might have some growing left. The man was handsome in an untamed, wild kind of way. Sasha knew he had a very similar look. There were a few similarities, he confessed to himself.

But did that mean this man was his father?

He didn't know. He had no answers. His mind was so addled with the notion of finding his father that Sasha couldn't even think of way that would prove this person's claim. Rather than do something intelligent and useful, Sasha ended up just staring at the man, his mind entirely overloaded.

Paveh Drux looked uncomfortable, unconsciously pulling his sleeve. He spoke again to fill in the silence.

"It's rare," He said, his voice quiet, "For any of us to have children. Even rarer for the child to inherit the gene; most are just human. They grow up not knowing what they could have been. Not knowing their parent wasn't human. They live their lives like any normal person would.

"But not you. I didn't know for sure if you were human or not—couldn't really—not when you were so young. At first, I was going to kill you either way, but I wasn't able to bring myself to do it. Even if it would have been for the best... Then, I was going to keep an eye on you; watch your development, see if you exhibited any signs of inheritance and decide to leave you with your mother or take you with me.

"But you were lost before I could. Your mother... She put you in an orphanage, lost you. I searched as much as I could but a child so young, so far away from his identity. It was a pointless endeavour. It's only because you're starting to awaken now that I was able to find you at all; your blood called to mine."

Sasha continued to stare. He silently wished Paveh would just shut up for two minutes so he could get his thoughts in order. He just needed some time. It was a lot to take in. Trying to think of something intelligent to say or ask or do, Sasha shook his head.

"My mother. You, ah...you mentioned her." Sasha muttered, his head buzzing with the revelations, "Who was she?"

A sorrowful look flashed over Paveh's face for a brief second. "She was beautiful. A truly brilliant witch. Her name was Lily Potter."

"Lily Potter?" Sasha repeated with a baffled shake of his head.

He stumbled back and fell into the chair in shock. He was halfway between laughing and crying. So the woman wasn't completely crazy. She had been right; he was her son. What had she called him? Harry. He wasn't a Harry. Didn't even look like one. He was completely wrong for the name. Harry was some kid who liked reading and had glasses or something. That wasn't him. He wasn't Harry. But that wasn't important right now and Sasha chided himself for focusing on the wrong thing.

He looked back up at Paveh Drux with big, wide eyes, showing just how helpless and lost he felt. He didn't know what to do, what to say. Closing his eyes, Sasha took a deep breath and tried to think of _anything_, just something relatively intelligent and useful.

"You met her?" Paveh asked instead, surprising Sasha out of his internal meditation.

He was confused for a moment as to who Paveh was talking about. "Lily?" He asked with a frown, "Yeah, I met her. Didn't know who she was though." He added in a mutter.

Paveh licked his lips, pulling at the cuff of his shirt again, tighter this time. "How is she?"

Sasha paused. Confused, he wondered why Paveh Drux was asking this. Who cared _how_ Lily Potter was? Taking a quick look at Paveh's body language and analysing his tone, it suddenly dawned on Sasha what the man was really looking for.

"You care for her." Sasha said, somewhat amazed by his own realisation.

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Remembering back to the journal he had found in the Potter household, something suddenly clicked. PD. Paveh Drux. He was the man Lily had been writing about. This was him and here they were, in the same room together. This was the evil creature that Lily had described.

Sasha huffed. "She doesn't feel the same about you."

Paveh went quiet, looking strangely solemn. "I know."

Sasha didn't know how his parents knew each other; he didn't know what their history was together. He couldn't deny that he was curious, but not enough to ask Paveh Drux and dredge up any repressed demons from the past.

He didn't know what had happened. But he did know some things.

He knew Paveh Drux and Lily Potter were his parents. Lily was married to James Potter for more than Sasha's seventeen years of life. That meant that Lily had had an affair. Paveh Drux was not human. Lily believed he was some sort of evil, manipulative shadow who had tricked her into sleeping with him. Lily had given birth to Sasha but at some stage, for some reason, she had put her son into an orphanage.

Sasha remembered hearing stories of a fire in an old orphanage that he had lived in as a baby. That meant two things; Sasha had been given away when he was _very_ young and also that he was likely never found because of that one incident so many years ago.

For a very long time he had assumed he was either unwanted or his parents were dead. It had left him feeling cold and alone. To discover that he had been very much wanted and searched for left Sasha feeling strange. Lily had gone half crazy waiting for her son to be returned to her.

Paveh Drux was harder to figure out. He didn't seem to want him dead, despite all his talking about meaning to kill him and he had saved Sasha's life—if it was to be believed that he was actually in danger. That had to mean something, didn't it?

But that didn't mean he knew how to feel about this.

One thing was for certain though; Sasha wanted to be back in Voldemort's mansion. He wanted to return to his master. Things were easier there.

"I..." Sasha said, finally with some plan of action, "I can't be here. I have to go. I-I have to get back."

He stood up and made to leave. Paveh Drux jumped into action and stopped him with a strong hand to Sasha's shoulder. "You can't leave." He said.

"Like hell I can't." Sasha replied with a scowl, suddenly defensive and wary.

"No," Paveh said quickly, sternly, "You really can't. I haven't told you anything yet."

Paveh didn't seem to understand that Sasha absolutely _had_ to leave _now_. He couldn't stick it; it was all too much. He felt a wave of panic rush over him and he knew he would have trouble dealing with it at that moment. He needed to not be here. Sasha needed some time alone, to think. To sort this out in his head.

"Some other time maybe." He tried to shrug off his father's hold.

Paveh tightened his grasp. "No, you don't understand. You're safe in this house, but if you leave, you'll be killed on sight. You are Rogue, Sasha; you were never supposed to live without guidance. Any of us will be able to see that you are untrained; you won't stand a chance."

Sasha stopped, frustrated but knowing he was unable to move. They stared at each other for a very long time. Sasha glared angrily at Paveh who just stared back, full of determination and a parental concern Sasha never thought he'd see directed at him. Seeing that his options were limited, Sasha gave up. "Okay... I'll hear you out." He said, defeated.

Paveh nodded, "Thank you."

With no escape in sight and stuck in a room with the person who had all the answers, Sasha knew it was time to ask the one question that had been driving him for years.

"What am I?" He asked as he pulled away from his father's touch, taking a step back to a more comfortable distance.

Paveh didn't seem to mind Sasha's unwillingness to be close. "The humans call us Enoch."

Sasha frowned. He didn't know the name, but that didn't mean anything.

"Your muggles think we are angels, sent from their god to change the world." Paveh shrugged, "It's probably more accurate than the average wizard's knowledge. They think we're some kind of creature, dark and deadly, malicious and manipulating. A funny thought, really."

"In truth, any sentient creature that was created with the intention of serving a higher power is given the title of Enoch. There are a few different species that are classified as Enochian—though to a much lesser extent than us.

"Humans themselves are included in that; wizards, for instance, are servants of Magic, dementors go with Death, centaurs with Fate and so on. Enoch is a merely an overarching classification with all the creatures within as subtypes. Much like lions and tigers are still classified as cats even though they are very different."

Paveh trailed off, seeming to forget that Sasha asked him a question. So Sasha spoke again. "What is the truth about you—us—then?"

"We call ourselves Shira. We are servants of Balance."

"Balance?"

Nodding, Paveh continued, "Since before time was measured we have been working quietly within the shadows, making sure there is perfect equilibrium within the universe. Neither good nor evil winning nor losing. Just balance. Our kind is neutral, never siding one way or the other, always out of the spheres of physical influence. Our god is Balance, our master is Balance. We do not follow any other creature or concept."

"And those who don't?"

"Are Rogue."

Sasha frowned. "You called me a rogue."

"Yes," Paveh sighed, "Our kind can become Rouge all too easily. Usually, it happens in adulthood, after one awakens and leaves childhood."

"But I've—"

"You've already become Rogue. You had to be special." Paveh said with a grim smile, "You came into your powers early—earlier than is usually heard of. Somehow, you managed to imprint with a master. That Dark Lord of yours is the reason you've become Rogue."

"Imprint?"

"We're only meant to follow one master; Balance. It's the reason why we take our children young, so they don't imprint with another. Usually, we have one master. That loyalty is absolute and it lasts our whole lives. It's a natural defence against wandering loyalties, to ensure that we follow the correct path."

Sasha ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath. "And I'm dead because of it?"

"I won't let that happen." Paveh assured him with a dark look of determination, he moved closer to Sasha. "I'll find a way to keep you safe."

"How?"

"I don't know." He said with a shake of his head, "But I'll work it out. I promise."

They fell into silence. Sasha looked down at his hands, scowling when he remembered that he was unable to use his magic. "You can take off the anti-magic charm now." He said.

"Regrettably, no, I can't. That spell works two ways; it made sure your powers didn't go out of control while you were asleep and it also makes sure no one can sense you. That spell will stay until you're either safe or you're dead."

Although Sasha didn't like it, he could accept it. The spell wasn't all that heavy and he couldn't really feel it until he tried to search for his magic. It didn't really make much of a difference to him other than the fact that Voldemort would freak if he sensed something from another person attached to him.

"If I have this charm then," Sasha said slowly, "No one will be able to sense me. Doesn't that mean that I can go back to my life?"

Sitting down on the bed, Paveh shook his head, "It doesn't work like that. I probably should have explained better; the Shiran Territories aren't exactly on the same 'plane' as you were on before. We exist in our own realm when we're not working on earth; it's quieter here, we don't have Balance to uphold. There are no demands on us, no duties to uphold. Our elders inform us when our presence is needed and the only time Balance contacts us himself is through our prophecies, rare though that is.

"I took you here when you came into your inheritance, otherwise you would have been completely overwhelmed by all the sensations. The majority of children who haven't been claimed die because of that. We have a room here, completely silent, without any sensory stimuli. Of course, we couldn't use it; then the others would have known about you. It _did_ set your recovery back a while, but at least you didn't die."

Sasha narrowed his eyes, "My recovery?" He asked, "How long was I asleep?" He didn't feel as if he had slept more than a few hours, in fact, his body clock assured him that he hadn't. Yet judging from the look Paveh's face, Sasha assumed that he had been wrong.

"About four months."

"Four months?" Sasha breathed. He looked away in wonderment. Suddenly, his insides froze in rigid fear. "Voldemort..." He muttered with a sudden fear at the thought of what the Dark Lord might do in the light of his disappearance.

Paveh bit his lip. "I don't usually follow individual humans but because he's your master I kept an eye on him."

"And?"

The look Paveh gave him spoke volumes, even before he could say, "It's not ideal."

Sasha didn't need to ask what that meant. He could guess. It meant messy and messy meant death, blood and suffering. All caused by Voldemort, of course. Sasha could imagine the fury, the hatred. Would he think that Sasha had abandoned him? He wondered what he should say to the Dark Lord when he made it back. He had no doubt that Voldemort would want a good reason for his disappearance and he just hoped this would be enough.

He just had to figure out how to get back now.

Judging from the expression on his father—damn, that was a sentence and a half—he wasn't going anywhere for the time being. Unless...

"I know a way out of this." Sasha said with a sudden revelation, "Voldemort, he... He created the Elixir of Life. I can become immortal. Then I won't be in danger anymore."

Paveh didn't want to ruin the hopeful expression on his son's face, but he had no choice. It seemed all he did was shake his head and correct Sasha. But he had to understand the situation. "The Elixir of Life doesn't work on us."

His face fell. "Why not?"

"We're already immortal."

Sasha paused. He was immortal? "Then I can't be killed, right?"

Paveh grimaced. "You can't die naturally. You can be killed. There are ways to kill us. Not a lot, but enough. Any Shira has the ability to kill another. Most aren't strong enough, but you, being as you are, wouldn't be able to protect yourself."

"I'm immortal?" He asked again, dumbfounded.

With a shrug, Paveh said, "As immortal as any living thing can be. You'll age for another few years and then stop. You won't go past thirty, probably. I know I didn't. It's generally hereditary. My mother stopped aging around the same time as well."

"How old are you?"

"I've been active for about three thousand years. I was about twenty three when I changed and came into my inheritance."

Sasha thought about that for a moment. He didn't think he could comprehend living for three thousand years. Instead of trying to make sense of that actual age, Sasha frowned as he thought of the other point in that sentence.

"Why were you so old changing?"

Paveh looked away and breathed a laugh. "I wasn't old. You were just very young. I imagine you've been going through degrees of awakening since your Dark Lord imprinted with you. Our children shouldn't be able to use any sort of magic until they grow into their powers.

"The fact that you've been using magic for years just proves how abnormally advanced you actually are. It's probably the reason you didn't die from the awakening; because you've been slowly changing over such a long period of time."

Sasha lowered his eyes as he processed all that he had learned. It was rather a lot to go through, but Paveh seemed to understand his need for time and he sat silently on the bed, his hands clasped in front of him.

"And you have absolutely no idea what to do?" Sasha asked into the quiet room, looking towards Paveh without much hope.

"Not exactly," Paveh replied, "But I do think there might be a way to save you."

Sasha waited patiently for his father to elaborate. He assumed that it was common for Paveh Drux to do this. The man certainly didn't seem to feel that he should be hurrying with his thought process. Either way, Sasha wasn't going to hassle him. This was the one person who could help him through this—best not to alienate him.

"You've already imprinted with a master." Paveh said, informing Sasha of something he already knew, "So that means you can't take Balance as another."

Sasha studied the look his father gave him. It was the sort of look that meant Sasha was supposed to be catching on to some hint. He didn't understand what it was. He gestured a twirling 'go on' gesture with his hand.

"But," Paveh continued, "There is a possibility that you might be able to become one of us who did not follow Balance at all, but some other entity. An entity that is more powerful than Balance, less vulnerable, yet still a part of him."

"What is it?" Sasha asked, interested and excited and, dare he say it, a little hopeful.

"Nature. Become a servant of Nature."

"Nature?"

"It's quite simple, really. I need to learn more on the subject but I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. As far as I know, you don't need to bond solely to Nature if you choose to follow her. You could stay with your wizard master and still work for Balance in that sense.

"I don't know how easy or hard it will be to imprint—or even if you would have the capabilities to do so; from what I recall, it was only ever a select few. But I will look into it."

"And doing this will protect me?" Sasha questioned.

With a nod, Paveh agreed, "I suspect so, yes..."

"You suspect?" Sasha cried suddenly, his voice raising an octave in utter disbelief. "My life relies on your _suspicions_?"

"Well, it's a little more than that," He said, "It's a bit more complicated than just this but the main problem we have with rouge Shira is that they work without reason, you know? They're unchecked; it can create this huge imbalance, cause everything to become chaotic. If you're aligned with one of our higher powers, there should be no problem."

"Should?" Sasha groaned, "Don't you know anything for certain? This _is_ my life we're talking about."

"I'll look into it." Paveh said, standing up, "It's not going to be easy getting all that information; most of its older than... well, me. It'll take some time before I can get back to you."

"Am I supposed to stay in this room until you return?" Sasha asked a little tetchily, unhappy that he was stuck in this place and that he was away from Voldemort and the war.

Paveh frowned. "No, not at all. You can explore the place as you like. Just once you don't leave the house. You'll be protected here; I put an anti-sensory ward around so no one will know you're here. But if you leave you'll be out in the cold, I'm afraid and any Shira within a thousand kilometres will be drawn to you with their teeth bared. Once you stay inside, you'll be fine though."

He made to leave and actually opened the door before he stopped and turned, his finger pointed as he was struck with a thought. "Oh, and there's food in the kitchen; it's self-replenishing so you can eat what you like and... um, yeah."

"Wait." Sasha said as Paveh disappeared behind the doorframe.

His father's head reappeared, looking questioningly, "My wand?" Sasha asked.

"That's not an option for you right now." Paveh gave an easy grin, "Can't have you doing something stupid. I'll be back in a few days; we'll talk about returning it then."

"Thanks for this. I mean it." Sasha called before Paveh disappeared once more.

"Don't mention it." He said, "You're my son."

Sasha grimaced with the feeling that the statement elicited in his chest. It felt a little bit like nervous butterflies, mixed with cold, slimy unease and most worryingly; a comforting warmth.

For a very long time, Sasha stared at the door his father had just left through.

His father.

Merlin help him, he thought he might die of an information overload.

**{Enochian Prophecies**

Sometimes the world was quiet, peaceful, _balanced_. At those times, the Shira could sit quietly beside the Well of Prophecy and enjoy the quiet voice of Balance as it spoke to them in hushed, contented whispers.

The Elders were the privileged ones that were permitted to sit beside the Well for the most part. They were the closest to the planet, the nearest to Balance, the wisest and the oldest.

In recent years, this Well had been a peaceful place for the Elders. They could sit and muse on life, or people or the future, or perhaps think of nothing at all and just meditate, enjoying the peace and quiet.

In recent years, the Well had been quiet.

Lately though, it bubbled and popped with discontent and discord.

The Elders stood around the Well, looking down at it worriedly. What could have caused such dissonance? The Well was disturbed, which meant that Balance was in disharmony.

"Something has changed." Orun Apa muttered softly. He was the oldest of all Shira alive and spoke the truth that the others knew but did not want to admit.

Diari Vehgal glanced around at her companions with a grim look on her face. "This is not our doing. This is the work of something else."

"It's true," Ephra Gon agreed, "I have monitored all things for the last decade. There was nothing wrong or out of place. I made sure of it."

Lang Medeh sighed, rubbing his face, "What could be so strong to send everything off course so quickly? The last time we saw anything of this magnitude it was during that whole Crusade faux pas."

There were a few agreeing mummers; no one could forget the Crusade incident. It had set things into disarray for years. Things had gotten out of hand back then and they had made it a point to not let such a thing happen again. It meant that they needed to tighten up their security and spend more time observing the happenings on the world.

Humans were a fast changing race; they were getting harder and harder to manipulate. They were intelligent now—at least as much as the Shira were—and that called for a younger generation to deal with them.

The Elders understood this and handed most of the groundwork duties over to the newer Shira; youngsters like Galor Palun, Paveh Drux and Navaa Talvan—among others. They were the ones that their society would rely on, them and the ones that were about to walk beside them. They had a different way of dealing with the humans—a way that the Elders could not quite mimic. Therefore, they took the role of overseer and took a step back.

They had not seen anything to suggest that poor work was being done. Neither had they seen any signs of a wayward form poisoning their system. It was worrying.

"We need to investigate this." Diari Vehgal said, "But should we search externally or internally?"

A brow rose high on Ephra Gon's forehead, "You suspect mutiny?" He asked.

After a nod from Diari Vehgal, Orun Apa spoke, "We cannot ignore the possibility—disquieting as it may be."

"Who do we tell of our position? How far will our suspicion extend?" Lang Medeh pondered aloud.

"We can tell no one of this." Orun Apa said, "It is unfortunate but if it really is another Shira that has caused this, they will be sensitive to any suspicions. We cannot afford to let them get away with it."

Diari Vehgal rubbed her forehead, "Balance help us." She muttered, "I'm getting too old for this."

"We all are. But we must venture forth nonetheless." Ephra Gon said.

Orun Apa straightened his posture as he got ready to walk away, "I need to meditate on this," He said, "And apparently I must find a more peaceful site." The oldest Elder turned and slowly shuffled away.

The others exchanged a tired glance between themselves before they too departed from the Well of Balance.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to 'o', stormyAngie and Sask for their reviews, as well as all the signed reviewers!<em>


	20. Chapter 19

_Just a quick note that I forgot to mention in the last chapter; the word Shira is Galacian, it means ancient. As you can see, I'm using it for my own purposes! Also, for those who are missing Voldemort, he'll be back in the next chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Chapter 19_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha felt as if he had been searching Paveh Drux's manor for days. He knew he hadn't—there couldn't possibly be a structure that was big enough to accommodate that, but time clicked slowly by as if it were the last ticks on a dying clock and with nothing to do Sasha had no option but to notice it.

He strolled through the corridors and walkways, bored and tired and troubled by everything he had learned. Stepping down the stairs, he trailed his fingers down the banister. Sasha sighed as he made it to the bottom and turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, wondering where he should be going next. He had already explored the whole right side of the manor so he supposed he should go left now.

The front door of the house stood temptingly close. He wished he could go outside, maybe not even to leave altogether but just look around, explore. Take a breath of fresh, outside air. He was a creature of outdoors; he didn't like to be cooped up inside.

But then, he wasn't stupid. If his father—he still grimaced at that—believed that he would put himself in danger going outside, then Sasha was hardly going stick his neck out. Instead, he would suffer in silence and await Paveh's return. However long that might take and judging from his vague answer, Sasha had to prepare himself for the possibility that it could be a while.

As he wandered through the left wing of the house, Sasha found a few places that might be of some interest to him. The first was the sitting room, which, interestingly enough, had a television in it as well as a few other muggle items like a radio and a computer. He hadn't expected to see anything like that, but then, if Paveh was working constantly with humans, magical or otherwise, he would have to be familiar with them.

Like his father and unlike many wizards, Sasha understood muggle technology and was not intimidated by them or against using them. They, at least, would provide some source of entertainment for him and there would be a novelty to it; being with Voldemort for so long Sasha hadn't experienced half of what was out there.

But he would not avail of the opportunity just yet; he wanted to explore the rest of the house before he became complacent and spaced out in front of the television.

He wandered into the kitchen and looked around with mild curiosity. In contrast to Lily Potter's—his mother's—kitchen, Paveh's—his father's—was cold and stark and ultra modern. It was much more impressive than Lily's, though it didn't look nearly as inviting. Still, this suited Sasha better; nobody hopped out at him and tried to hug him or drop mini-quiches at his feet.

After he finished studying the kitchen, Sasha gave a cursory look to the rest of the wing. There was a library with a few dusty, half-decayed books which Sasha promised himself he would go and take a look at later. Other than that though, there seemed to be very little of any interest to him. He doubled back and threw himself onto the couch in front of the television, grabbing a remote and clicking through the channels.

He hadn't watched TV properly for years so he didn't recognise any of the programmes and certainly not any of the stations. It seemed to be world television and one moment they were speaking Chinese while the next it changed to French and then Russian. Even if he had been able to understand anything they said, Sasha found himself too weary to concentrate.

He briefly wondered how Peveh had gotten TV at all if they weren't even on the same plane. Before he could come up with any answers beyond 'it's magic', he yawned loudly and felt his eyes droop shut. Despite spending the last four months in bed, Sasha slowly slipped into sleep.

He couldn't tell how long he had been resting when he was awoken quite abruptly by a loud bang that resonated through the room. Jumping to his feet, Sasha's hand immediately went to the place where his wand should have been.

_Damnit!_

Sasha hissed in his head as he remembered how Paveh had taken his main means of defence away from him. Despite the handicap, Sasha wasn't defenceless and he knew that. He stalked around the couch and through the door, venturing out to investigate the origin of the sound.

He could have sworn he had heard the noise coming from the front entrance but there was nothing there. It was when he heard a sound coming from the kitchen that he investigated more fully.

Pots and pans.

Someone was clattering pots and pans. Sasha almost sighed in relief as he realised Paveh must have come back to the house. He relaxed and made his way into the kitchen, chiding himself for being so pathetically paranoid.

He stopped doing that as he entered the kitchen.

The person in the kitchen stopped what they were doing too.

The woman froze and looked at Sasha with suspicion and more than a little surprise. "Who are you?" She demanded with an exotic, rolling accent, moving slowly to put down the pan in her hand and move around the island in the centre of the room. She stood in front of Sasha.

"I could ask you the same question." Sasha breathed. Paveh said that no one would find him, but then, this woman didn't seem to know who he was. Maybe she wasn't looking for him. But she knew about him now. Where was Paveh? What should he say? What should he do? He didn't know how to act with these people, despite himself being one. His social skills for this race were non-existent. He had to think carefully; what _wouldn't_ get him killed?

The woman narrowed her eyes. "What right have you to ask questions of me?" She said.

Sasha didn't know how to respond. Was this some hierarchy thing? Should he be on his knees or calling her by a title? The woman didn't look like she was some queen or something; in fact, she almost looked like a muggle.

Her clothes were decidedly muggle; she wore a dark skirt with black tights and a dark coat over that. She had, strangely enough, a woolly knitted hat on top of dark, wild hair and a scarf which she was currently unfurling from her neck as she studied Sasha. There were flecks of snow on her clothes, now slowly melting with the heat of indoors.

Even though her clothes were muggle, she certainly did not meet the brief for one. She was deeply tanned, with pale eyes that stood out sharply on her face. She was tall too, a little over the normal and was about the same height as Sasha. She had a very good-looking face and an attractive body. Sasha felt a familiarity and knew instantly that she was Shira and that she was a threat to him because of it.

"You look like Paveh." She accused him suddenly.

Sasha blinked. He supposed he must look like his father, he hadn't considered that. "So what if I do?"

"You are not Shira." She said, moving in a way that was suspiciously similar to someone who was about to strike. Sasha responded by doing the same, shifting his shoulders and feet to get ready for an attack.

The woman noticed this and narrowed her eyes further to the point of them being little more than pale slits. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

Sasha stiffened and remained silent.

The woman scowled and took half a step forward, looking threatening. "I don't know how you got here, but this is a crime punishable by death."

Sasha snarled. "I'd like to see you try to touch me." He challenged.

Bristling, the woman straightened, "I will_ not_ be goaded into fighting by some—"

She was interrupted by the sound of the door banging. She closed her mouth and looked to the room entrance coldly. Sasha followed her eye-line, half turning his body so that he could have a look at both the woman and the new arrival. Neither of them knew who was going to step through that door and so both were wary.

They needn't have worried; Paveh Drux appeared in the doorway, stopping suddenly when his eyes registered the scene. There had been an easy grin on his face that fell into something halfway between a frown and a grimace almost immediately. He opened his mouth to explain himself.

He didn't get the chance to.

"What _is_ this?" The woman demanded quickly.

Paveh bit his lip as he took a few steps inside, subtly coming between his son and his co-worker. "Navaa, take it easy." He tried to soothe, "Just take a breath, calm down."

Navaa Talvan sneered, "Do _not_ waste words telling me to calm down." She warned, stepping in close to Paveh, "Instead take the time to explain to me why there is a _boy_ in your house."

"You were supposed to be working on the ground." He muttered like a kid, "I didn't know you'd be here."

Navaa made some wild gesture with her hand that showed completely her frustration. "So that makes it alright?" She questioned with a high tone, angered by the statement. "Is my ignorance excuse enough to disregard law?"

"No, no, not at all. Listen, why don't we sit down and take a few deep breaths and I'll explain everything in a _calm_, quiet manner."

Navaa clenched her jaw, pursed her lips and glared furiously at Paveh. When she saw that he could not possibly cower any more than he was already doing, she let up and gave a curt nod. She moved to a chair and sat down abruptly, folding her arms.

Paveh turned to Sasha and motioned for him to take a seat and he did the same. Warily, Sasha did, positioning himself in a manner that looked like he was ready to bolt. Paveh cast him a quick, sideways look that seemed disappointed he was acting this way. But it was quickly gone and he turned to the impatiently waiting Navaa.

"He's my son."

Navaa blinked. Sasha didn't blame her; he had felt much the same way upon the discovery. "Your son?" Navaa asked, glancing over to Sasha speculatively, "He is your son?"

Paveh nodded.

Navaa groaned rubbing her forehead with both of her hands and scraping her hair back as she did. "He is Rogue." She muttered, the sudden realisation of the situation hitting her.

"No." Paveh denied.

"No?"

Paveh grimaced, "Well, yes, technically."

"Technically?" She asked in disbelief.

"Technically, yes."

Sighing in exasperation, Navaa shook her head. "What are you thinking, Paveh? Bringing him here? Why is he even still alive?"

Sasha stiffened. It was a question he didn't want answered. Although he doubted Paveh would, his father _could_ decide that his actions were as crazy as this woman seemed to think.

"He's my son."

She scowled. "You say that like it means something."

Paveh just gave her a pleading look. "Navaa..." He said solemnly.

She sighed and seemed to soften the tiniest bit. "Tell me then," She closed her eyes, her whole expression relaxing into one of disappointment, "Tell me you have a plan. You can't have been so stupid to bring him here without a plan."

"I do." He promised, "I found a way to save him."

Navaa held up her hand. "Whatever it is," She said, "I don't want to know. I refuse to be involved with this. Do you know how much trouble I could get in just for knowing of his existence?"

Paveh nodded in understanding, "I could really use your help." He said softly with an utterly genuine look on his face.

It struck Sasha how perfect that look was; how vulnerable and puppy like it was. He wondered if that was the same look Paveh had given Lily Potter. Was that the look he had used to get a married woman to cheat on her husband? Did she soften as much as this Shiran woman before him seemed to? More importantly, did Sasha have the capacity for the same expression? With the same effects? Could he employ the same tactic and get what he wanted from someone who was clearly furious? The next time he had the occasion, he would try.

"Paveh..." She whispered. There was a long pause before she spoke again, her shoulders drooping in resignation. "Tell me of whatever half-brained plan you have concocted." Her hostility was back, but in a brisk, efficient way.

Paveh didn't seem to mind her tone. He gave an easy grin that Sasha recognised as one of his own. "I'm going to make him a servant of Nature."

There was a brief pause.

"You're an idiot."

"It's a viable plan."

"No, it isn't," She said, "It's stupid; _you're_ stupid. I pity your poor son, having you as a father."

Paveh flinched. "That's a bit harsh..."

"You _need_ harsh, Paveh; it'll knock some sense into you. Nature doesn't just accept anyone to be her servant, she's _extremely_ picky. There's a reason why more aren't serving her."

Paveh shook his head, "I'll find a way to make it work. It's the only way."

"You'll lose everything if you take this on and fail." Navaa told him quietly, leaning in and tapping the table with her index finger, drilling in the point.

Closing his eyes, he said. "I know. It's worth it."

Sasha watched the interaction quietly. They seemed strangely close; more so than even normal friends or colleagues. There was an intimacy there that made Sasha think perhaps they had a deeper relationship than just that. But then, Sasha couldn't say for sure and he had more pressing matters to worry about than a potential love interest of his father's.

Navaa nodded slowly, "Very well. Do you know the rituals involved?" She asked.

"Vaguely, I was researching them today."

Pursing her lips, Navaa replied, "That's no good. You know nothing." She said, "Fortunately for you, I am familiar with one."

"How?" Paveh asked, seeming confused, "How is that possible?"

Navaa shrugged. "I was not eager to serve Balance if it meant abandoning my family. Nature seemed like a kinder master." She said.

"I never knew that."

"It's nothing." She waved her hand dismissively. She turned to Sasha. "I suspect that some of this may not be pleasant for you. Do you have the will to go through with it regardless?"

"I happen to enjoy living." Sasha replied.

"Very well," She said, standing up, "I can accommodate you with that. But not today. Today I am tired from travelling. Allow me some respite and I will be more prepared to deal with this."

"You're welcome to stay here." Paveh offered, getting to his feet also.

"I know." Navaa said, walking by him, "I did not come here for your company."

Paveh smiled as Navaa left the room and wandered away. Sasha watched, a little bemused but ready to accept that Navaa would not be trying to gut him in the middle of the night if it meant keeping Paveh's favour.

...

**{Enochian Propehecies}**

...

"What's your name?"

Sasha raised a brow at the question. "Sasha." He replied, baffled.

Navaa Talvan rolled her eyes and gave him an exasperated look. "I _know_ that." She said, "What is your Shiran name, I mean."

Frowning, Sasha shook his head, "I don't have one."

"Paveh has not given you one yet?" She asked as she moved around the table to pick up a small box filled with a green weed.

They were in a small room full of cauldrons and potions and the ingredients for potions. They needed a potion to initiate the ritual for seeing if he was fit to be a Servant of Nature, apparently and this was where they were doing it. Navaa swept around the room easily, as if it had been her own home, pulling bits and pieces from shelves and containers as she needed them. Paveh was nowhere to be seen. He had muttered some reason for his leaving and had disappeared some hours ago.

"I already have a name." Sasha responded, "I don't need another one."

"All Shira change their names when they come into their powers. You think I was born with this name? To a human parent? No. Our names must have the letters from our language in them."

Sasha thought about it for a moment. "I think I'll stick with Sasha..." He decided, "What was your human name?"

Navaa stopped moving for a moment. She looked serious, even though she gave him a brief, efficient smile. "You do not ask a Shira these things."

Sasha nodded. A sore subject then. "Would Paveh tell me his?" He wondered aloud.

Navaa snorted, "His name? No, Paveh does not have a human name; both his parents were Shira. He was born here, not on the human plane."

"I didn't think that was possible." Sasha said. Navaa looked at him questioningly so Sasha further explained his statement, "For both parents to be Shira. I thought there was some rule that one had to be human."

Navaa shook her head, "Not quite," She said, "Most Shira are incompatible with each other when it comes to making children. That's why we take human lovers. Sometimes though...sometimes it works. The pair become mates and can have offspring."

"So I have grandparents?" Sasha asked.

"Paveh should be telling you these things, not me." Navaa complained as she added a small amount of pink dust to her concoction. "They are dead. They died about a thousand years ago."

"What happened? How did they die?"

Shrugging, Navaa responded, "They lost the will to live. They gave up on life and returned to the Cycle. It happens often with the older Shira. Immortality is not an easy thing to deal with; even those who were as fortunate as Paveh's parents could not handle eternity."

"They killed themselves?" Sasha muttered, surprised.

It didn't really upset him that his grandparents were dead; he hadn't even known he'd had any until a few seconds ago. But it left a strange feeling in his stomach. The Shira were immortal by nature; it was what made them Shira. If they could not handle everlasting life, then how could Voldemort? He had taken the Elixir of Life and had dealt with it easily enough. There were no side effects, no deformities. He had remained whole and relatively unchanged both in body and mind.

But there was eternity for that to change.

Everything that was currently fine at the moment could go wrong. Insanity, physical deterioration—even despair. Surely not even Voldemort could continue on with endless life when all signs pointed to the impossibility of it? He worried for his master; was his fear of death, and his desire to live, enough to keep him going when nothing else had accomplished such a thing?

It was a troublesome thought.

But he didn't need to worry about that just yet. Sasha had years to figure it out before it became a problem. Voldemort wasn't going to deteriorate so quickly; he was stronger than that.

"It is the way of things," Navaa told him as she stirred the potion, unperturbed with the thought, "We _can_ live forever, but none of us have chosen to. It is a hard existence—long and tiring. Someday I too, will choose to leave."

"And my father?"

"It is up to him. I cannot speak for Paveh, though it is likely he will choose it. Everyone comes around to the idea sooner or later."

Sasha considered this. "Everyone?" He echoed.

Navaa looked at him strangely, "Humans are the only creatures that _wish_ for immortality, Sasha. All other beings, eternal or otherwise, are fearful at the notion of living forever. Even those that are not capable of such advanced thought accept the eventuality of death."

Sasha didn't answer. In truth, he had nothing to say to that statement.

The potion hissed as another ingredient was added. Navaa inspected it with another quick stir, picking up a sample with the spoon and pouring it back down. She lifted up the caldron, taking it away from the heat and putting it onto the table. She propped herself up against the table, looking over at Sasha. "It is what it is," She told Sasha, "Thinking of these things is pointless."

Walking over to a cabinet, she took out a small vial. Navaa dipped it into the potion and put a stopper on it. It was placed on the table with a tiny 'thunk'. "Now is time to concentrate on the present. You may never get the opportunity to consider your own immortality. This potion will show us if you have an affinity for Nature."

Sasha looked at the vial. "Do I consume it?" He asked.

"Yes." She replied, grabbing the vial when Sasha reached to pick it up. "But not here. We are too far removed from Nature here."

"So we have to travel back to the other plane then?"

"Mmm," Navaa agreed with a nod, "I should let you know though; Nature is a choosey mistress and many before you have been turned down by her."

"What are you getting at?" Sasha asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Do not get your hopes up. You may not be compatible with Nature. Only a few dozen Shira ever were."

Sasha's eyes travelled to the vial full of dark green liquid. This would tell his fate. "I understand that." He said, still looking to the glass, "But there's no point in worrying about it yet."

Navaa looked pleased, "You will make a good servant if you live through this." She said with a satisfied smile. "Paveh will return soon, I imagine, we will go then to complete this ritual. Until that time, I suggest you rest. After this, regardless of the results, you will get no peace."

Sasha was left alone in the small room.

Navaa, he had learned, had been involved with Paveh romantically before. They had an on again, off again relationship that his father assured him was complicated. When Sasha pushed for him to actually go into it, he discovered that it wasn't as complicated as Paveh thought. It was merely that, on and off with a certain degree of regularity. Uncomplicated and easy. They were friends most of the time, lovers some of the time and professional associates only occasionally.

They had gone on with that cycle for a few millennia. Sasha learned that Lily Potter had been the only other woman Paveh really ever involved himself with and it hadn't exactly gone splendidly either. It was probably just as well he stuck with Navaa.

Shaking his head, Sasha stood up and stretched. Paveh still hadn't given him back his wand. Maybe he'd kill some time looking for that.

Which was exactly what he set off to do.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Birds chirped cautiously in the background as Navaa finished adding blue paint to her hands. Decorative swirls and spirals snaked up her sleeveless arms; a necessary step, apparently. The fauna of the dark wood forest watched warily from the safety of the bushes and treetops. These strangers did not appear to be the same creatures as their usual hunters, but their images were very much similar—even if there _was_ some strange feel to them. It was something that hinted these creatures were more ethereal than their normal predators.

It was the reason why they were watching those strangers instead of scarpering away to safety.

Navaa put down the small ramekin dish that was half-full of the blue paint she had up and down her arms. She pushed it over to Sasha, who was sitting in the middle of a ceremonial circle, painted with more blue. "There." She said, "Do the same to your arms that I have done to mine. The patterns do not have to be exactly the same, just near enough." She slid her arms forward, hands either side of the dish so that Sasha could use them as a template.

Sasha dipped his fingers into the blue paint and copied the drawings. It didn't take long; some of the images looked hard to construct but when he actually tried to do them they seemed to flow easily onto his arms. When he was finished, he took a quick look at his handiwork.

He was pleased with the results.

"They look good." Paveh said weakly from his spot, a few feet away, standing against a tree.

Paveh had been quiet since they arrived. He was nervous, jittery; this was the only option for them. He had assured Sasha that if the ritual didn't work, he would just find another way to save him but what Paveh hadn't said was that there may not be another way. He had never heard of anyone surviving the status of Rogue. This was it. It was all he could do to save his son.

He couldn't lose him.

"Alright." Navaa flicked through a tiny book on the ground beside her. "Are you ready?"

Sasha nodded.

"It shouldn't hurt; it will just be uncomfortable for you. Umm..." She trailed off as her eyes scanned the pages. "If this works, the markers should turn from blue to green...I think that's about it. This shouldn't take long; we'll have our answers soon."

"I'm ready." It was all Sasha could say now. He too, was nervous. He had no intentions of dying at seventeen, but his intentions weren't law and there were creatures, older and stronger than he that would be against him. The thought was daunting and it struck fear into him like he had never felt.

"You know what to say?"

Sasha nodded. "Yes."

"Good. We begin." She said quickly. "Drink the potion."

Sasha downed the contents of the small vial in one gulp, grimacing at what he thought was it was going to taste like. He was surprised to find that it was strangely sweet, like maltose.

They were both sitting cross-legged; he inside the circle and she at the edge.

Sasha knew the steps of the ritual. He put his hands on the edge of the circle in the designated spots. Navaa put her hands beside both of his.

She spoke. It was a language that Sasha shouldn't have understood, but somehow, the meaning behind the words trickled through the foreign sounds. Navaa spoke them as if she was used to the language and when she stopped Sasha knew it was because she was finished, not because she had gotten stuck.

Sasha licked his lips before he spoke, remembering the words without any trouble. They came easily to his lips and despite him having the small book open to read the words, Sasha didn't look down. He already knew; it was all there.

Navaa muttered her next part. They were taking turns. Her then him and so on. Sasha didn't understand the ritual, the reason why there were two of them or why he had to sit in a circle with blue paint covering his arms. He didn't understand it but he wasn't going to question anything.

He took a breath, spoke some more in that strange language that was equally as foreign as it was familiar to him and the said, "Nature, I offer my allegiance to you."

And that was it. His part had been played without fault. If successful, his blue markings should soon change to green. The ritual was pretty much over, the results were all he was waiting for now. But how long did that take? How long should he wait?

Minutes ticked by.

Nothing was happening.

Some more time passed.

Even more.

Sasha stopped breathing some point during that time. In fear, he looked up to Navaa and then to Paveh hoping for assurance. Neither had any to give.

They waited some more.

Sasha swallowed.

It wasn't working.

Navaa's eyes widened when she concluded this herself and they took on a sad shine. "I'm so sorry." She whispered and turned to Paveh, "Paveh..."

Paveh shook his head and turned his face away to hide his mournful expression.

Navaa stood up and began to walk away from Sasha, her shoulders drooping.

Sasha closed his eyes and breathed. It was okay, he'd find some way to stop this. He always did. This was just another trial. He could complete it. He had to. Deep breaths shook his form as he tried to straighten himself out. He looked down at his arms dejectedly.

He paused.

"How green is this supposed to go?" Sasha asked suddenly, turning his arms to examine both sides of them.

Paveh's head shot up and Navaa spun on her heel. They both approached him hastily. Navaa grabbed his arms, turning them as well. Paveh hunched over him breathing excitedly, a small grin quirking his lips.

"You did it!" He said, laughing the giddy laugh of someone who had just dodged a bullet.

"It's almost black." Navaa muttered.

Paveh blanched, expression falling from his face. "Is that bad?" He asked before Sasha could.

Navaa frowned, "I do not know exactly," She said, standing up, "I suspect it means that there is quite a... bond between you and your future master."

Paveh smiled full of pride and relief, resting his hand on his son's back. "Well done, Sasha." He said. "Didn't doubt you for a minute."

Sasha knew it was a lie; he had seen the despair in Paveh's eyes. Still, he said nothing. Just nodded and smiled. He was too relieved to do anything else anyway.

"Yes, congratulations, Sasha." Navaa said too, preparing to clean up, "However, I must inform both of you now that we have come to a problem."

"What is it?"

"We don't know how to actually _make_ Sasha a servant of Nature." She said, putting her hand on her hip.

"There must be some books in the city library." Paveh mused.

"What about your _private_ library, Paveh?" Navaa asked with a strangely intense look.

Paveh glanced away. "I haven't been in there yet." He said, "I don't know if it will even have anything..."

"Well, as you keep reminding me; he is your son. You have already involved me in your attempt to save his life. You would stop now? Before he is safe and while we are _both_ guilty of covering up his existence?" Her voice took on a fierce, hissing quality that made Sasha blink in surprise.

"No. No, of course not. I didn't mean anything. I was just saying..."

Sasha stood up and dusted himself off. He ran a hand through his hair and rolled down his sleeves. "Since we don't know what to do yet," He announced to the other two, "Can I go home until we have more information?"

"So we can do all the legwork?" Navaa asked indignantly with a raised brow.

Paveh held up his hand, stopping whatever argument might have risen, "That's not really the issue, Sasha; the real problem is that we cannot afford to have you roaming around unprotected. You could still be found if they were looking for you. With the charm, they cannot sense you, but you are not completely protected by that fact alone."

"I _need_ to get back." Sasha implored, "It doesn't have to be for long, just enough for me to tell Voldemort that I'm okay."

"No. I'm afraid it isn't possible." Paveh said, looking genuinely apologetic.

Shaking his head in frustration, Sasha said, "Well how about I write a letter and get one of you to deliver it to him?" He suggested, with a tinge of desperation in his voice

"Our movements are noted. It would be suspicious, I could be followed and that would put not only me and you, but also your dark wizard in danger." Paveh replied.

"But..."

"We have risked enough as it is coming here today." Navaa said sternly, "Perhaps you have forgetten what is at stake here?"

No, he had not forgotten. He clearly just wanted to have his cake and eat it. Clenching his jaw, Sasha gave a shake of his head. "No I haven't." He said. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sound unappreciative."

"Don't worry." Paveh replied, "Navaa's just cranky today. Come on, we have work to do."

A few moments later, they left the dark forest without a sound.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Why would Paveh Drux have information about servants of Nature in his private library?

It was a question that Sasha hadn't immediately thought to ask. When they returned to Paveh's mansion though, he had interrogated his father on it. The answer he had received was... interesting.

Paveh's grandmother, Sasha's great-grandmother, was a servant, or Scion of Nature. One of the very few that were chosen by Nature to serve her. Nature didn't take servants based on genetics or bloodlines. It had never happened before, but now, apparently, there was two in one family, within only a few generations. It was unheard of, ridiculous— impossible, even. And yet, it seemed to be so. Sasha had the capability to become what his great-grandmother was.

Sasha didn't know what it meant.

Paveh didn't seem to want speak very much on the subject either, so Sasha had no way to gain more information. Navaa had left too, soon after their arrival and Paveh had refused to let his son into his _secret_ library. Whatever that was about.

Sasha didn't know what the 'secret library' held, or why his father needed one. But apparently he hadn't even been inside it yet. Just what was in there? However, taking into consideration the amount of rooms Paveh had in his house, was it entirely unreasonable to guess that the mansion was used by more than just him in the past? Had Sasha's grandparents lived here? Great-grandparents? That would explain the existence of a secret library that Paveh had not yet ventured into.

While he was on that subject, Sasha was curious as to how many generations of his family there actually was. Paveh was over three thousand years old. How old were his parents? His grandparents? How long ago was the earth made?

Sasha was lying on his back on his bed, musing about this. He had time to now. He could do nothing here in this place. He was just hanging around, waiting to be told what to do. It killed him to be so dependent on other people and powerless to do anything about it.

Back with Voldemort, he was a relatively big fish in a big pond. Here, he was an insignificant speck on a tiny fish in a vast ocean planet.

Which sucked.

Sasha closed his eyes.

He had hoped he would be able to return to Voldemort, but he could see that was not going to be possible.

For now anyway.


	21. Chapter 20

_Hey guys, long time no see! I know there was a huge gap since my last post but I'm right in the middle of exams at the mo so I'm pretty busy at the moment (and will be for another few weeks). Anyway, there's some slash in this scene and just like last time the link is on my profile if your interested in reading it. If you aren't, there's nothing important you'll be missing out on. Enjoy!_

_..._

_Chapter 20_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

_[Three months later]_

_..._

Voldemort had never been a gentle master. He was cruel and ruthless, heartless and sadistic, terrifying to his minions and horrifying to everyone else. He was more than a man, more than a Dark Lord sitting on a throne. He was a snake; as deadly as a basilisk in a school full of children. No one would doubt his claim of Slytherin ancestry; no one could deny the likeness between him and the original Slytherin Salazar himself. Even then, everyone agreed Voldemort was his own monster, far greater and more terrible than Slytherin could ever have been.

Lord Voldemort was deeper into the dark arts than anyone had been for decades. Not since Grindlewald had anyone delved so far into their depths and it many would debate if even he had managed to match the current dark lord's achievements. The Dark clung to him like stale air on some days and on others it pulsed outwards in waves, presenting an ominous air to those unfortunate enough to be around him. To his followers it made him intimidating, to his victims it made him terrifying.

In recent months, however, Voldemort's campaign had taken a whole new level of ruthlessness. Left, right and centre, muggles and mudbloods had been targeted, kidnapped, tortured, killed and left in public places to remind people of that wrath that was Lord Voldemort. Attacks, merciless and savage had been instigated all over the country. There seemed to be no plan, no motive behind his maddened actions, which made it all the more terrifying; no one felt safe, nowhere was secure.

The Dark Lord had never been a gentle master, but now, in recent months, he was tyrannous.

No one knew what had triggered such a change in the Dark Lord. No one, except a select few of his closest followers, but everyone feared the results. He was impossible to please; if a plan went even slightly wrong—_Crucio_. If someone shuffled too loudly within the ranks—_Crucio._ If a mission was failed by someone... _Avada Kedavra. _

Why was this happening? Death Eater, Order member or just plain citizen, the question remained the same. Why, after all this time, had the state of the war changed? There had been no public scene of announcing a new order, no great battles of grand overtaking, just senseless violence and targeting innocent people. Why was this happening? What had changed?

Only one man truly knew the answer. Sasha was missing. He had been gone for seven months and Voldemort knew he must be dead. The boy would have contacted him otherwise. There was no possibility that he might be alive, Voldemort knew this to be true.

He had spent weeks searching for Sasha—and the dark haired stranger who had taken him, but to no avail. There was no sign, no trace of either of them and all his attempts were futile. He had mourned for his servant privately, but in public he had turned into something much darker and maniacal.

The boy and he had been connected—in some strange way that Voldemort couldn't understand—but connected nonetheless. Voldemort did not know how one would describe the bond between himself and Sasha, only that it was deep, burrowed in so far even he could not rip it out. He had wanted to be violent about it and sever any connections he might have, he had wanted nothing to do with the boy, only to understand him and then use him and then throw him away.

Easier said than done.

Perhaps it was a weakness on his part? Perhaps, when each time he decided to finally be done with the boy, his reasons for having Sasha around were just constructed by his own desires. When Sasha was younger, when he couldn't perform magic and he was still too young to be any physical use, Voldemort had plenty of opportunities—and reasons—to get rid of him. The Dark Lord still didn't know why he hadn't. The boy had no use back then; he did not effect the war and he could not possible defend himself let alone anyone else should there have been an attack.

Sometimes Voldemort thought it had been an indulgence to keep the boy; a guilty pleasure in knowing he could shape another sentient creature to be exactly what he desired. But then, Sasha had started to become useful; at fourteen, he learned magic and from that point onwards, he excelled.

In the months after Sasha's disappearance, Voldemort had reflected upon their situation. It had been more than just business, more than just an agreement of servitude and leadership. There was affection and companionship. There was a certain warmth that Voldemort felt which he could not describe as having ever felt before and he could not identify it.

Sasha had been a constant; they had spent five years living practically in each other's pockets. Voldemort had watched him grow, watched him become strong and powerful and worth the attention he received. Voldemort had watched as his student turned into what he wanted—and continued to watch as he changed and became something better than he could have envisioned.

Through it all, Sasha had been loyal. No matter how hard the training, how brutal the punishments, Sasha had stayed—even when nothing was stopping him from leaving. At some point during those five years, the intrigue Voldemort had always had for Sasha turned into something else.

He wouldn't trust most of his Death Eaters with even the simplest of tasks. There were some, like Bellatrix and Barty that Voldemort knew where completely loyal. Obsessively loyal. But that kind of devotion was dangerous in its own right. It had to be controlled, maintained.

Most of his followers were like Lucius; loyal only provided he stayed strong and powerful. If for a moment he faltered, where would they be? Where had they been when he was turned into a disembodied spirit? They thought him dead. Not because they truly believed it, but because they found it convenient.

Sasha was not like that. Voldemort knew, without any doubt, that Sasha would not leave, he would not stray. His loyalties lay with the Dark Lord. Or at least they had, before Sasha had been taken from him.

The thought of it left him cold.

Voldemort felt a consuming hollowness in his soul. Again, this was something he had not ever experienced before. It was, perhaps, something akin to the sensation of having a Horcrux. He did not immediately attribute it to Sasha's absence either. Later, when he had given himself enough time to admit that he was not unaffected by the loss, Voldemort realised what he was feeling was just that; loss.

He never thought that such a sensation would affect him. He never thought that he would be bound to someone as he was bound to Sasha. From the moment they had met in the streets all those years ago, they had been marked. Voldemort still didn't know what it meant or how it affected him but he had not been able to shake off the thought of the boy since.

With his melancholy thoughts to keep him distracted, Voldemort had not yet acknowledged his minions.

His Death Eaters had gathered in the great hall, presenting themselves at his feet. He sat quietly on his throne, his eyes gliding darkly over the statuesque forms of his followers. They were idiots, all of them. Unable to complete the simple tasks he set out for them. They had all been given tasks, raids and kidnaps and the like. Not all his orders had been carried out as successfully as Voldemort desired. It was well within his rights to have them all killed.

Even in his rage, however, Voldemort appreciated that murdering his followers would be counterproductive. Instead, he calmed himself enough to stop from doing anything regretful. He was about to dismiss them when the heavy wooden doors at the bottom of the room slowly creaked opened and then closed with a 'thud'. Because of the many followers lined before him, Voldemort could not see exactly _who_ had the stupidity to arrive late for one of his meetings.

He narrowed his eyes in fury, his fingers twitched in anticipation of casting a killing curse on the idiot. No, not a killing curse. Slow. It would be slow. And painful. Voldemort wanted the fool to scream and beg for death. He wanted to inflict as much pain as was humanly possible before the idiot died.

His Death Eaters understood the gravity of a late arrival and turned to see the latecomer. They exchanged looks and glances and slowly parted to make way as the unknown person moved through the ranks, closer to Voldemort.

Voldemort's breath caught in his throat as saw who it was.

Sasha strode forward stiffly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's as he advanced towards him. Had he been looking around, Sasha would have seen the nervous look in Lucius' eyes, or the delighted relief in Bellatrix's. He might have even seen the surprise in Snape's as he recognised Sasha's face from his time spent in Hogwarts, yet he was not looking anywhere but at his master and Sasha missed all of those things.

Many of the Death Eaters in the room did not know who he was; they exchanged confused looks between each other and wondered who he might be. Sasha's face was maskless. The Death Eaters would not recognise him. They would never have assumed that the face behind the mask was as young as it was.

It would take some time for them to put two and two together.

Sasha arrived in front of Voldemort and swiftly dropped to his knees, head bent low, neck bared vulnerably. Sasha never knelt in front of him—never. It had never been required of him before. But now, after seven months utter silence, Sasha knew it would be a bad idea to come back in like nothing happened. He had hoped to get Voldemort while the man was alone, but he was short on time and didn't have the luxury of choice.

For a long time, Sasha remained on his knees. Red eyes bore down on him without reprieve.

"Leave. All of you."

The command was as sharp and unforgiving as any Voldemort had given over the last few weeks. It was quickly obeyed. Sasha heard the rustling sounds of robes as hundreds of Death Eaters filed out of the room. As the last one left, shutting the door behind them, the hall fell into a thickened silence.

Despite being uncomfortable with his position, Sasha stayed where he was. His breathing was even; his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of it and was almost comforting. He was tired; travelling there took its toll on him and left him feeling ragged. He hadn't felt this tired since before his awakening. Sasha really wasn't in the mood for the difficult conversation he was sure he'd have to endure.

More time ticked by before Voldemort stood up from his throne and stepped forward so that he was positioned right in front of Sasha, his legs inches from his face. Towering over his servant, the Dark Lord leered down.

"Seven months." Voldemort hissed darkly, fury lacing itself like poison over what could have been a forked tongue. "You disappear for seven months. No word, no warning. Did you want me to appear a fool in front of my own followers? Did you revel in humiliating me; a Dark Lord who can't control one _worthless_ servant?"

Sasha clenched his jaw and kept his silence. There were no words that could make this better. Not yet. Best to let Voldemort show his displeasure first. Sasha knew their reunion would not be pleasant; but it had to be done. His absence had lasted too long.

Voldemort sneered and swooped down, grabbing Sasha by the scruff of his neck and pulling him up. Face to face, foreheads touching at intimidating intimacy, Sasha grit his teeth. He had become unused to Voldemort's touch after all those months.

For too long he had been allowed the comfortable respectable distance that anyone who wasn't a possessive Dark Lord could provide. Now the hand on his neck felt constricting. His heart beat quickened along with his blood pressure and breathing. A hand shot up to Voldemort's chest in an attempt to create a little distance between them. He needed to breathe.

Voldemort was not affected by Sasha's movements. "Seven months, Sasha!" He continued, sneering, "I waited for your return. I searched for you. I thought you to be dead. Seven months and you waltz back in like your absence was nothing!"

Sasha, irritated and uncomfortable by the iron grasp on his neck pushed again at Voldemort and, when that failed, he snarled, "What would you have me do?" He asked, "Appear to you in a dream? Write a postcard? Hire a procession of trumpet players?"

"Do _not_ test my patience, _boy_, or I swear to Merlin I will cut that smart tongue of yours right out of your head."

"You're mistaking frustration for cheek. I'm not playing coy, I'm not being smart; I came to you as I could, that's all; quietly and stealthily, because any other way would bring you danger. If there was another way to announce my presence I would have done so, but my time is limited and I need you to understand everything _quickly_."

Voldemort took reign of his anger. "What is happening?" He asked, his free hand trailed up Sasha's chest and splayed across his heart. "Your heart is racing." He said.

Sasha tried to push away again and was surprised to find that Voldemort let him go. He took a step back and regained his composure. "I'm scared, if you must know." He admitted, "There's more going on than you know. I've risked the lives of an awful lot of people just by returning to you."

Voldemort scowled again as his curiosity was sated and his anger rose. "Where have you been these past seven months?" He demanded once more.

Closing his eyes, Sasha briefly thought how nice it would be to slip into his bed. He was so tired. "Can we go somewhere else? There's a lot you need to know and I don't think I have the energy to stay standing for much longer."

"I demand answers now, Sasha!" Voldemort hissed.

"And I will willingly give them to you, but not here. I can't. Just let me sit down at least. I'm shaking here."

The Dark Lord straightened so that he could look down his nose at Sasha. It was a tactic that Voldemort had employed countless times over the past five years. Once, it had been effective. It didn't work so well anymore; Sasha had grown over the past few months and was now almost at eye level with his master. "What is wrong with you?"

Sasha closed his eyes, for longer this time. "It wasn't painless returning to you. I didn't just decide to come here today; I've been planning this for weeks and the kind of travel I had to employ was not easily done." He let out a shaky breath. "Please, I can't fight with you right now."

Voldemort stayed still for a moment, regarding Sasha stonily as if to verify what he was saying. He turned on his heel and left the room, robes trailing after him. Sasha gave a thankful sigh, following his master into his personal chambers.

The journey there seemed like eternity. Each step Sasha took was a struggle; every time he moved his body it groaned and screeched like demon being purged from a possession. Had he any less will, Sasha would have sat down on the ground half way through and refused to move. He certainly wanted to. He _really_ wanted to.

Eventually, they arrived at Voldemort's personal chambers.

There was a fire in the corner and plush chairs situated around it where Sasha found Voldemort in the process of sitting down on one. He followed suit and collapsed into the chair across from his master.

"Explain. Everything. _Now_." Voldemort ordered sharply, the rage and confusion came through his voice in the form of a hiss. Even though Sasha had heard it before, he still found it difficult not to jump at the sound; his whole being rebelled at the notion of having displeased his master. Now more than ever, Sasha knew why this was; his imprinting onto Voldemort had him eager to serve, but biological or not, he hated his master's disapproval. Sasha rubbed his brow, taking a moment to get his thoughts into order.

With a long, weary sigh, he spoke.

Starting from when they last saw each other, he told Voldemort everything. He spoke of how it was Paveh, his father, who had come and taken him seven months ago. He told him how he would have died had he not been rescued and that even away from this plane; he had spent four months sleeping off his awakening. Sasha spoke about Rogues and servants of Nature, about the rituals and then the training he had gone through once he found that he had been able serve the goddess. Sasha left nothing out.

Discussing it brought memories of the training back to Sasha. It had been hard—completely metaphysical, but difficult nonetheless. Navaa had told him it was necessary so that he could accept a master without them taking his identity. Sometimes, he became so engrossed in it that he went days without leaving his room, without realising he had an identity, a name, a body.

But he couldn't do much; where the Shira lived, he was separated from Nature. She could barely reach him. It meant that he was spared too much of her influence but it didn't exactly promote his compatibility with her. It didn't help that they still did not know how exactly he was going to become a servant of Nature. Navaa thought it might be similar to how Shira prepare to accept Balance as their master, but so far, none of their attempts had worked.

Frustrated at their lack of progress, Sasha had come up with the crazy idea of returning to Voldemort. They didn't know what to do anyway, so why should Sasha waste time sitting around? Risking the Shira's wrath was something he was willing to do, just this once. Sasha told this to Voldemort also.

"I shouldn't be here." He finished by saying, "I snuck out. When they discover I'm gone, Paveh will probably come back for me... But that would be the best possible scenario."

"The others? These... Shira, they will come for you."

"Yeah." Sasha nodded, "And they'll kill me. I can't stay here."

Voldemort scowled. "You are not leaving. You are _my_ servant—not theirs. You will leave when I say you can. No sooner."

That couldn't happen.

Sasha sat quietly, considering his next words carefully. "These people... they aren't human; their _power_ isn't human. They are immortal, they are _ancient_. You cannot afford to draw their attention to you—especially not now, not with the war. You can't win against them."

"You do not have faith in me? You forget, I too, am immortal." Voldemort challenged.

Sasha shook his head. How could he explain the limitations of immortality?

"As am I." Sasha said, "But...when two immortals fight, it creates a stalemate; both equally as strong as the other, each using their power to win. They do not destroy each other, but as their battle continues, it becomes chaotic. Chaos thrives on immortal struggles. To protect against this, Balance created a rule, where when two immortals battle, each is as likely to become mortal so the other can win and the battle can end—you see? One must die. And there are ways; there are always ways to kill someone; immortal or not."

Sasha looked down at his hands, "I need more time. Just a little longer. Once I become a legitimate servant of Nature; we won't be in danger. I won't need to run. I'm asking for time, nothing more than that."

Voldemort stared at Sasha, musing on the situation. "No." He said finally.

"No?" Sasha stood up wearily, "I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation."

Rising to his feet also, Voldemort approached Sasha. "I understand it." He said, "But you are not leaving here today. I insist you spend the night; you are in no state to travel as it is. You will rest here. Tomorrow we will discuss this."

"I can't just—"

"You can and you will. I am not accepting any discussion on the matter." It was said in a voice that meant his word was final. If Sasha wasn't careful and he made to leave, he would probably find a _Stupefy_ in his back. Voldemort was not the sort to take 'no' for an answer.

Running a hand through his hair, Sasha finally gave a reluctant, but agreeing nod. "Alright." He conceded.

Voldemort smirked as he stepped in close to Sasha, fingers lightly placed under his chin to tilt his face up. Lips met lips in a surprisingly gentle claiming. Sasha almost backed out of the intimate gesture in shock. He hadn't expected Voldemort to be so gentle. If anything, he was expecting an aggressive, possessive action to remind Sasha of his place and re-stake his claim.

Oh, it still was a claiming, a marking. But it was strangely pleasant.

There was none of their usual passionate urgency this time, merely a soft kneading of lips, slow and all the more sensual because of it. Sasha's exhausted mind appreciated easiness. He responded with the same lazy pace.

Voldemort's hands went exploring, moving up and down Sasha's body, not lightly but with a pressure that left marks on his skin. "You've grown." He murmured against Sasha's lips appreciatively.

It was true. Sasha had turned eighteen during his absence. He had gained more than a few inches in height and that wasn't the sum total of his change; the muscles had become more pronounced on his arms and his chest had filled out. His face had lost most of whatever child-like quality it had retained and he was now an exotic looking creature indeed. There was a wildness to him now that had been present since the first day Voldemort had met him, but it was even more relevant than ever before. The Dark Lord's heart beat excitedly, thinking that he had such a creature under his control. Under _him_.

Without breaking their long, easy kiss, Voldemort guided both of them over to the bed, the pace gaining a tiny bit more urgency. The mattress hit the back of Sasha's legs and they fell gracefully onto the cool sheets.

Sasha arched under Voldemort as he moved from his lips and went down to his clavicle, nipping, kissing and licking. All the while his hands travelled lower, over his ribs, past his waist and stroking Sasha's flanks soothingly.

Breath quickening with the promise of what was going to happen, Sasha gave a needy groan when Voldemort moved from his side to his hips and then brushing tauntingly over his crotch. Those damn hands moved cruelly away and slid under his shirt. Sasha's stomach quivered against the cold hands, goose bumps trailed after the long, spidery fingers. Then, they were gone again and they were working at removing Sasha's clothing.

Sasha lay back and let it happen, submissive in his position of patient waiting. He heard the shuffling of clothing as Voldemort undressed quickly. Closing his eyes, Sasha relished in the quiet of the room.

Upon returning to this plane, having successfully completed his sly plan of escape, Sasha had been bombarded with the voice of Nature once more. It was nonsensical to him, but commanding and unsettling and undeniably present. Around it, he felt compelled to act, to _obey_. It was frightening to be so susceptible to something he had no understanding of. Being near Voldemort though, the voice had quietened and left him with a blissful sense of peace.

His lips were taken again as Voldemort came back and melded up against him, fingers trailing downwards teasingly.

...

_[missing scene on livejournal]_

_..._

"I'm glad you convinced me to stay." Sasha gasped, catching back his breath.

A breathy chuckle. Voldemort rolled off of him, lying on his back. "It didn't take much convincing." He replied.

Feeling all warm and fuzzy with tiredness, Sasha closed his eyes and gave a catlike yawn, stretching languidly from his place on the bed. This was what Sasha enjoyed most about these encounters; the feeling of lingering warmth on his skin, as if he was lying under the sun and a cloud had just passed over head.

He could happily stay there forever. He wasn't sure if Voldemort would let him or not though; the man wasn't predictable in that way. Sometimes he would immediately dress; ready to continue on with his day, other times he would lie back and enjoy the peace while he could. Voldemort seemed to be in no rush to leave and that suited Sasha fine.

It was an easy sort of relationship between them, Sasha supposed. It could have been full of suspicion and a struggle for power, but it had not been. Sasha's motives for following Voldemort had always been clear and single minded. He was happy in his role and content to have the Dark Lord as his master. He didn't want to compete with him or attempt to surpass him. He had no interest in leading people or attaining power, unlike the Death Eaters, who all had their own reasons for joining and wanting to be near such a dark power.

Sasha now realised that it was because of his 'imprinting' with Voldemort that he could have that sort of relationship. It didn't change anything though. It still meant that Sasha was loyal to him and it just proved how faithful he really was. Voldemort could trust Sasha unconditionally. He had nothing to gain from the Dark Lord's downfall, nothing to lose from giving up his life to the man. He was bound by his own biology.

"You can hear Nature speaking?" Voldemort asked suddenly, thinking more about what Sasha had told him.

Sasha cracked open an eye and yawned again. "All the time." He said.

"What does it sound like?"

He answered, "It's like different voices—lots of them—but speaking as one, as Nature. I don't understand what she says, but I know what she means; I can tell if she's angry or sad or happy or...whatever. It's loud though, and its constant and it takes up most of the space in my head..." Sasha paused, looking up to the ceiling, "It's quiet when I'm around you though." He added softly.

"It clearly knows when it is bested by your true master." Voldemort said.

Sasha grinned softly. "I suppose she must." He agreed, closing his eyes again.

Voldemort didn't speak again and Sasha fell asleep soon after. He awoke in the middle of the night to find his master's arm draped across his side. He drifted back into unconsciousness.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Sasha's eyes snapped open.

He didn't know why but he was suddenly wide awake, his heart beating quickly and the voices in his head whispering at him urgently. He sat up, looking around for signs of disturbance. Everything was in place in the room; there was nothing amiss, no sounds outside and no signs of anything suspicious. It didn't settle his thoughts, however and in fact made him even more anxious.

Untangling himself from the sheets, he spared a glance over to Voldemort. The man was in a deep sleep. Sasha wouldn't wake him; whatever it was, he could handle it himself. He gathered up his clothes and dressed quickly, taking his wand out of his pocket and holding it tightly in his hand. Creeping out of the room his senses were on high alert. Something was wrong.

Nature's voice sung in shrill shrieks of disharmony.

As he travelled down the corridor and further away from Voldemort, her voice grew louder. It had Sasha grimacing in discomfort and the attempt to block out the cacophony in his head. Why was he so worried? He was panting terribly; his heart was going faster than a rabbit's.

His instincts told him to run, go the other way. But he ignored them and travelled to the grand hall, pushing the heavy doors open with his shoulder. He froze when he saw what his instincts were warning him against. He raised his wand and pointed at the small group of people, his eyes going between each of them.

"Come in, Sasha Kamenev and close the door."

Sasha stepped further into the room but left the door slightly ajar. He wasn't going to waste time opening it if he had to escape quickly. Not that he was going anywhere, not with who was standing in front of him.

"Diana." He breathed.

They were holding her captive. She looked terrified; pale and vulnerable. "Sasha?" She cried out pathetically.

They were Shira, with a cold gut, Sasha knew they were Shira and they were clearly there for him. This was what Paveh had warned him about. He shouldn't have stayed. Oh god, they had Diana... How? How did they even know about her?

"Let her go." He said, an odd pleading tone in his voice.

There were two Shira. Both of them men and staring at him darkly. "The human does not need to be harmed—" The first one said.

"—Provided you come with us." The second one finished.

The first Shira that had spoken was tall and blond-haired. The second was brunet.

They were nothing but lackeys. Sasha instinctively knew this. They were minions sent on a mission by another Shira far older and stronger than themselves. That didn't mean they weren't worthy opponents, of course. From the little Sasha learned about his people, he knew that one could be stuck in the same job description for a very long time.

"Fine," He said, lowering his wand, "That's fine. Just let her go. I'll come with you."

"No, Sasha, don't!" Diana cried, struggling helplessly in her living bonds.

Sasha gave her a guilty look, "I'm sorry I put you in this position, Diana. I had no idea they knew about you."

"Don't you dare, Sasha!" Diana warned him, "I'll never forgive you if you do this."

Ignoring her harsh words, Sasha took a few more steady steps towards his opponents. "Let her go." He said.

"Throw your weapon over here." Ordered the second Shira, the brown-haired man.

Nodding, Sasha bent slightly in the middle and tossed his Japanese Maple wand onto the ground. It clattered and rolled onto the foot of the brunet Shira. Sasha raised his hands slowly, letting them know he was unarmed and not going to try anything stupid.

"Take her home." He said softly, motioning with a nod to Diana. "She doesn't need to be a part of this."

The brunet picked up Sasha's wand and pocketed it. "Our orders said nothing about returning her." He informed Sasha.

Sasha sneered, "She'll die if she's left here; you can't leave her."

"Not our problem. We told you we'd release her and we will." The blond said, removing the knife and pushing Diana away. She stumbled forwards and into Sasha's grasp.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Diana nodded bravely, "What's going on, Sasha? What did they do? Did they drug me? This is..."

She trailed off as Sasha shook his head. "I'll tell you when I get back." He said, though both of them knew there were no plans for him to return. This was, as far as either of them was concerned, a one-way trip. Diana didn't know the circumstances but she did know that when people kidnapped loved ones it wasn't just for a friendly chat. She knew they were making Sasha choose between her and himself.

She wished he hadn't chosen her.

Sasha's mind was racing; Diana was a muggle in a household full of dark wizards that were constantly thirsty for bloodshed. If he left with those two now, she would be dead. She would be found and brutally tortured, killed and who knew what else. He knew he had to save her from that, but what could he do? They had his wand. They were older and stronger than him. He couldn't fight. He didn't have a chance at overpowering them.

Just then, the door burst open and Voldemort appeared like a gilded edged hero. He saw a saviour in the man, not a Dark Lord. Sasha wanted to be relieved by his appearance, but he couldn't help but fear for his master's safety. He didn't think even Voldemort could fight against the Shira and win. Sasha couldn't afford to risk it.

His eyes met his master's.

Sasha would have to do this. He would have to stop this from escalating.

"No." Voldemort commanded in sudden understanding.

Sasha grabbed Diana by the arm and pushed her away from him. She stumbled a little distance away. He hoped he hadn't hurt her but he needed to put some distance between them in case Diana tried to stop him from what he was about to do. "Don't hurt her," He pleaded to Voldemort, "She's important to me."

With two quick steps backwards, Sasha arrived in the grasp of the blond haired Shira. He just about caught a glance of a furious Dark Lord firing a forbidden curse when his vision went black with the Shiran equivalent to apparition. Sasha had successfully preformed one inter-dimensional journey; it was how he got back to Voldemort, but it had ruined him, left him weakened and exhausted.

He wondered if the same would happen to these two.

Sasha sincerely doubted it. He wondered when he had started believing in miracles.


	22. Chapter 21

_This chapter is a bit of a filler, it's not very interesting but it has to be done. At least it was up quick, though! Also, thanks to Syls and Dasha for their reviews._

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><p>...<p>

_Chapter 21_

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**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Together with the two older Shira, Sasha appeared in a place he had never seen before. He hadn't expected to see what he saw either. It was a field of long grasses and wildflowers with poppies scattered through the yellow-green marram, stretching as far as the horizon.

In his immediate vicinity, there were ruins half standing around him in a broken oblong shape. Columns and pillars of yellow and pink stone slabs were razed to the ground. In the very middle of those ruins there was a small well made from the same coloured stone. It stood non-threateningly, filled with sparkling blue water that held only the slightest traces of some black substance.

This, however, was unimportant and Sasha shouldn't have been paying attention to it, not in that moment anyway. No, it was much more important that he keep an eye on the people who had congregated around the well and turned to gaze upon his arrival.

Paveh was there, looking at him with the most despairing eyes Sasha had ever seen. He and Navaa were in between two other Shira. They were being held as prisoners, much like Sasha himself. A little away and gathered nearer the arbitrary well, were four other Shira that Sasha had never seen before, but sensed they were in charge of everything he saw before him.

There were four in total and if Shira could look old, they would look like these. There was barely a grey hair or a wrinkle between them, but even that was enough to hint at how impossibly ancient they were.

This was what Sasha had been warned about. This was this finality that Paveh so feared for him. His father's fear was doubled suddenly and passed onto him—a little too late unfortunately. He should never have gone back to Voldemort. It was stupid, it was short-sighted. Sasha deserved whatever fate they dealt him. Unfair though it was.

One of the older Shira took a step forward, his brow raised high.

"This is him?" He asked, glancing over at Paveh, "This is your son?"

Paveh gave a miserable nod. "He is."

"The Rogue?"

"Yes, Orun." Paveh replied despondently, eyes firmly on the ground before his feet.

Orun's eyes were glued to Sasha, his brow furrowed.

"This is not right." Another elder Shira, a woman muttered, troubled.

"Diari?" Another asked.

"You cannot sense it, Lang?" She asked instead of answering. She too, had her eyes on Sasha.

"Surely it cannot be..." It was Ephra Gon who said it, but Sasha didn't know that. He only saw him as the last elder to speak.

The four elders stood a few feet in front of Sasha, looking at him with critical eyes.

Sasha had the sudden urge to run. Having the four most powerful beings in existence stare at him so intently was threatening in a whole new kind of way. His heart gave a terrified double beat at the gravity of his situation. There was no escaping this; no one here could help him. His only two allies were under the same threat as him...And with a quick glance in their direction, Sasha saw that they seemed just as confused as scared as he was.

It was Orun Apa who spoke first, showing anger instead of confusion. "We sent you to find a Rogue and you bring us back _this_?" He said.

The Shira that had brought Sasha shuffled uncomfortably and cleared their throats. "He is Rogue." One of them said behind Sasha, as if it was obvious. Frankly, it should have been. Wasn't Sasha Rogue? He had been told as much since before he knew what he was.

Their word's raised more questions. If the elders had not meant him, did that mean there was another Rogue wandering about somewhere? If so, could Sasha be let off the hook? Could he survive this? Probably not... no. Even if there was another one out there, Sasha was here _now_ and in their line of fire.

What was with him and these ridiculous hopes lately? He was going to have to get his head checked soon if he continued with this foolishness.

"You fools." Diari Vehgal drawled, exasperated, "He is not Rogue."

Lang Medeh said, "He neither looks nor feels like one. You have made a grave error."

Paveh's head rose slowly. He looked around in confusion. "He isn't Rogue?" He asked in a small voice that sounded pathetically hopeful. Sasha couldn't blame his father for this. He imagined if he spoke something similar would come out of his own mouth. The possibility that maybe he wasn't Rogue, that maybe he could survive this, it had him so hopeful, so painfully hopeful.

"Children, all of you," Ephra Tal admonished, "Too young to remember."

"Let the boy go." Orun Apa said softly.

Sasha was instantly released. His captors took a step back, providing some much needed space. Sasha warily watched as the Elder took a few steps towards him. "Do you hear her? Nature, does she speak to you?" Orun asked him.

Sasha wasn't sure if he should answer; he didn't know these people, didn't know what the right answer was. Should he lie? Tell the truth? He looked over to Paveh for guidance. His father, along with Navaa, was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer eagerly. Sasha turned back to the Elder. "Yes." He answered, hoping it wasn't a mistake.

There was a gasp throughout the group and then silence. Sasha didn't understand why. Could they not hear Nature? Or wasn't a Rogue supposed to? Sasha had thought it was a natural part of his awakening, a rite of passage in becoming Shira, but that couldn't be right, could it? Not when everyone was looking at him so strangely.

Orun nodded, as if his suspicions had been confirmed. "And tell me, has she... _shown_ you anything?"

Sasha frowned, he wasn't sure he understood the question. Orun Apa sensed this and elaborated, "Have you seen anything that wasn't real to anyone but you. Maybe even only for a moment."

Of course he had. Sasha remembered back to his time in Hogwarts, seeing himself walking down the halls, being led to the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk. Then he thought about his experience in the courtyard of Azkaban, hundreds of different people, spirits all around him playing out their own existences as if he wasn't there. "Ghosts..." He whispered.

Orun brightened, "Yes, exactly. If you have seen what claim then Nature truly has shown you much."

"What are they?" Sasha asked quickly. His fingers itched with the possibility that maybe he would now receive all the answers that had alluded him for so long. Months and months of wondering were almost at an end.

"Prophecies of the future... or echoes of the past. I cannot say for sure which it is; for Nature did not show me but you. Nature, however, has the capability to reveal both of these to her servants."

"Both. She's shown me both." Sasha said with certainty.

Orun smiled, "There is no denying; you are truly her servant."

Barely above a whisper, Sasha heard Diari Veghal's words to Eprha Tal, the elder nearest her, "And that wand... Maple... Truly a mark of Nature's Scion, is it not?" She gave an amused huff before turning and raising her voice, "Tell me Navaa, is this wand not familiar to you?"

The wand in question was still in the hands of the Shira that had taken it from him in Voldemort's home. The brunet held the wand up higher for all to see. Sasha had always been fond of the wand, but aside from being a little unusual, it shouldn't have been as interesting as the Shira were making it out to be.

Navaa scowled in confusion but studied the wand nonetheless. She took a long time to come up with an answer, but when she did, her whole face transformed into astonished realisation. "Cambodia." She said, "Almost twenty years ago; I was sent on a mission to ensure that the wandmaker, Botum Oung made two wands; one made from cypress and the other from maple. I recognise it now. I arranged for both wands to be lost in a card game to an Englishman called..." She paused as she searched her memory, "... Ollivander, I think. "

Sasha looked back at his wand, a true Botum Oung creation. For years he had been telling people she made it, without actually thinking she had. How interesting that she really was the wand's maker. How strange that the Shira had been directly involved in its making and its journey into both Sasha's and Voldemort's hands. Sasha got a very sudden, very strong sense that destiny was moving in a very decisive direction.

"But how can this be possible?" Paveh asked, "We did not complete any ritual. We couldn't find anything that would bind him to Nature. We failed, didn't we? How then, did he become a servant of Nature and why was his wand that of a servant's?"

Diari Vehgal laughed, "If anyone should know, Paveh, it is you. Was your grandmother not a Scion herself?"

Paveh quietened suddenly, clearing his throat and averted his eyes with discomfort. "I don't know."

"Of course not," Diari said with a sigh, "No matter, I can teach the boy everything he needs to know; your grandmother was a dear friend of mine, Paveh, I dare say she told me more about Nature than she did you." She added cruelly.

"Diari..." Ephra warned softly, seeing Paveh's jaw clench. "Watch your words."

Diari rolled her eyes and answered Paveh's question, "Nature finds her own servants, Paveh, she does not need any _rituals_ to choose her followers. Balance is a distant master; he does not care who comes to him once _someone_ does. Nature," She quirked a satisfied grin over at Sasha, "She grabs what she likes when she sees it."

It was like a joke that only she understood. Sasha didn't smile back at her, only watched the Elder cautiously. The others did not respond either but this didn't seem to bother her. "Well, Sasha Kamenev, you and I are going to be seeing a bit of each other it seems; you have a great deal of information to learn and it appears only I can teach it to you."

Sasha thought back to Voldemort; the look on his face as he realised what Sasha was going to do. The way he threw Diana away and begged for her to be looked after. He didn't know if Voldemort would honour his wishes over his own desires and instincts. "I need to get back." He said, looking around, "I wish I didn't, but I can't spend any more time here."

He could have said that he didn't want to waste anymore time—he wanted to say it—but he didn't. He wasn't going take any chances with these people. The time it took for them to change from hostile to friendly had left his head reeling and he had no doubt that it could revert just as quickly.

Diari's face froze before turning icy cold. "I am here now, to teach you what you need to know. You are a fool to turn down my offer of help." She warned haughtily.

"I can't stay." He insisted, "I _need_ to get back."

"I am an Elder," Diari informed him, "I have offered my services to you—a child—you would do well to listen to what I have to say."

Sasha ran a hand through his hair in distress, "And I'm grateful," He said, "But Diana..." His voice caught in his throat.

"The human?" The blond Shira that had delivered him asked.

"She's in danger," Sasha explained quickly, "I-I have to go."

He made an unplanned move to the side, thinking only that he needed to get back to her. "Wait." Orun Apa's soft voice stopped him. "Diari, let him go. You can afford to take the time for lecturing later. The boy needs your help—accommodate him in this; he is Kin."

Diari pursed her lips. "I will be here," She said eventually, grudgingly, "Return quickly; my patience is not infinite."

Sasha nodded, gave one last glance to his father and tried to focus himself enough so that he could transport himself back to the other plane. As he felt himself begin to get pulled across planes, Sasha heard Diari's voice mutter. "And Chaos shows herself again in Nature's Scion."

It was a strange comment, one that made Sasha frown. But he didn't have time to wonder about it; there were bigger problems at hand. Diana was in danger. He became so focused on his task of saving his friend that he almost missed Lang Medeh muse, "If he hasn't caused the damage, who has?" Before he was swept away from them and towards Diana's rescue.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"Diana?"

Calling out to her was the first thing Sasha did as he felt the floor of Voldemort's great hall under his feet. Even before his vision cleared fully, his eyes swept around, his senses out and searching. Voldemort spun at his arrival, wand ready and about to attack the sudden intruder.

Sasha held up his hands in a lazy gesture, half distracted with his search for the girl.

"You're back?" Voldemort said in confusion. "Already? Are you alright?"

He heard the noises, he realised Voldemort was speaking to him, but Sasha couldn't register the words as he saw Diana plastered against the wall, wide-eyed and terrified. She was shaking. She looked like she might faint any moment.

"Diana!" He said, rushing over to her.

Her wide blue eyes looked up at him. There were tears glazing the surface with relief. "Sasha?" She whispered, her voice trembling as much as her slim frame.

Sasha gave her a kind smile, trying to look reassuring. His heart was only half in it though, as he studied her whole body, looking for any sort of injury. Breathing a sigh of relief, he saw that there wasn't any. He could think clearer now.

It suddenly struck him that he had ignored Voldemort—and that wasn't a good thing. He looked over at his master. Red eyes were narrowed to little more than slits as Voldemort watched the interaction between the girl and his servant with entirely unveiled fury.

"Everything is okay." Sasha told his master, "I'm not in danger any more. They aren't coming for me. I'll explain everything later, after I get back."

Sasha strode over to his old friend, pulling out a cigarette from the back pocket of his trousers. Voldemort had forbidden him from smoking, so Sasha rarely did, but he always carried one cigarette on him—just in case. He carried a lighter too, more for the sake of nostalgia than the necessity. Sasha figured it was safer to use the lighter at the moment and not freak Diana out any more than he already had. Somehow, he didn't think that she would appreciate him producing fire on his own volition.

"Take this." He said, giving her the nicotine laced stick.

With trembling hands she put it up to her lips and accepted a light from Sasha. He watched her until she took a few deep drags and half-closed her eyes as the effects hit her. Sensing that she was a little bit calmer now, Sasha risked physical contact.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

Sasha looked back over at his master. "I'm sorry to leave you like this and I think I might be gone a while, but there's a lot happening just at this very moment and I don't think I can put anything off." Sasha said. Next he addressed Diana. "And I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, Diana; you're not going to like this, not even a little, but there's no other way."

Diana opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about when she felt a pull on her navel and the world around her warped something horrible. She could have screamed if she hadn't been so terrified. Unknowingly, she had side-ways apparated with Sasha with a loud crack.

After what she would later describe as the most horrible experience of her life, her feet touched the softness of her carpeted apartment floor. Diana gasped desperately, her hand on her heart, the cigarette still half in her mouth. She pulled it out and turned to survey her home, as if she was unsure whether it was real or not. Her eyes were wider than should have been possible; she was pale as a sheet.

Sasha hid a sudden, inappropriate grin, thinking about having flapped the unflappable Diana. Diana, the girl that could look down the barrel of a gun and still managed to look unimpressed. She wasn't as cool now though. After the humour died down, Sasha realised that his friend was upset and his own mood dampened.

"Are you okay?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

Diana pushed away from him, taking steps to distance herself from the source of her crazy. "What is this, Sasha?" She demanded angrily once she realised he was the only one with any answers. There were distressed tears in her voice.

"I'm sorry Diana." Sasha said solemnly, "I never wanted to involve you in any of this. You were supposed to be separate to all this mess."

"Tell me!" Diana screamed suddenly, bringing her hands up to her head and grasping her hair, a nervous tick of hers. "Tell me what this is! Who were those people? _What_ were they? They can't have been human, they were doing... they were using..." She trailed off because she didn't have the words or the knowledge to continue.

"Magic." Sasha supplied.

"Don't get smart with me." Diana warned darkly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Sasha quickly shook his head, "I'm not. It isn't a joke." He assured her, "It was magic. It's real."

Diana stumbled back into her couch and fell down onto it. "Magic?" She despaired, "I've gone insane."

She buried her face in her hands and shuddered pathetically.

"I'm afraid you haven't. Not at all. It's real—all of it."

"I don't believe you." Diana breathed behind her hands.

"This isn't a lie" Sasha told her gently. "I swear. Look, I'll show you if you promise not to freak out."

Sasha did the only thing he could think of to introduce Diana to magic in a non-threatening way; he took out his wand and lay it down on the small coffee table between them.

"This is a wand, all of us have them. It's how we get our power." He explained as simply as he could, "Mine is made of the wood from a Japanese maple. It's a tonous wood so it's good for quickly releasing energy. Different types of wood means that the wand is going to be good or bad at certain types of uses, you see. And this has an Augurey core, which is a bird that's kinda like a Phoenix, but it's more to do with rain than fire—and frankly, it's not quite as cuddly as its cousin.

"The core's important because it dictates the personality of the wand. Augeries aren't used here in Europe, but they are in Asia. They make highly possessive, highly loyal wands; they can't be used by another wizard at all once they find their master. This wand has a twin brother; the same core, different wood. Other than that though, my wand is utterly unique. There's no other wand like it."

Diana watched as Sasha spoke about the wood in his hand with almost reverence. She didn't understand what he was talking about for the most part, but she was caught by his voice. He rarely spoke in such an unguarded tone.

"I'll show you what it can do." He told her.

Sasha muttered a few words that Diana didn't understand in a language she thought might be Latin but she wasn't sure. Holding the wand in a deliberate way, a light shot out of it and hit the small coffee table in front of her. Diana jumped back when it bubbled and morphed into a turtle.

"Bloody Hell!" She gasped as she scrambled away from the transformed table.

Sasha quickly changed it back before the creature decided to move away. "See?" He asked, "That's called transfiguration; it's a type of magic that changes things into other things."

Diana stared at him, at the wand and at the table—then back again. "What are you?" She asked softly.

Sasha sighed. He hadn't wanted Diana to find out what he was in fear that she would reject him. Even if he lied and said he was human, Sasha imagined she would probably still hate him and make him leave. But he had to tell her the truth. He owed her the truth. He had never used magic on her before, never used his abilities on her either. It would have been easier to obliviate her and spare himself the trouble, but damn his morals; they were stopping his hands from moving and his brain from forming words.

"I'm not human, Diana." He said softly with sorrow at the implication of this information reaching his one true friend.

Diana blinked.

"What I am, we're known as Enoch." He continued, "It's pretty similar to human, but with a few minor differences."

"Like what." She whispered.

Running a hand through his hair, Sasha answered, "Longevity, precognition, influence on people's feelings."

"Did you ever..." She trailed away, swallowing a heavy lump in her throat, "Use them."

"On you?" Sasha said quickly, understanding immediately, "No, not you."

"But you've used them on others."

"Yes."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" She asked.

Shaking his head, Sasha held out his hands, "You can trust me, Diana, you know that."

"How?" Diana snarled suddenly, "How can I trust you when you've been lying to me since the day we met. You're not even _human_, Sasha. I don't know, I don't know how to..." She didn't finish speaking. A sob got in her way. She half turned sorrowfully, breathing heavily.

"I'm no different now than I have ever been, Diana." Sasha said imploringly, "I'm still me. I didn't tell you because I didn't know. For a long time I didn't know what I was—and once I did, I didn't tell you because I was afraid."

"Afraid?"

Sasha could have rolled his eyes, trust Diana to pick up on his one utterance of weakness. "You're the only person I can trust, the only person I can stand. You mean everything to me, Diana. You saved me when we were kids. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't turned up that day and started following me. I would have gone strange—cold, lonely, stupid. You were always my anchor to reality. How could I stand to lose you?"

Wide, blue eyes shimmered as Diana took in what Sasha was saying to her. It seemed to calm her down a little.

"I never did anything to you, Diana," Sasha continued, "I needed someone that I knew I could trust no matter what. When I was younger, I wasn't able to control my distrust of anyone. I suspected every body of plotting against me or trying to harm me in some way. I was paranoid that some other kid would have me killed. But with you I didn't have to worry, I didn't have to look behind me or prepare for betrayal. Anything we had, it was natural, it was pure. I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardise that; I didn't need to."

"And now... well, whatever ability I might have had in the past to influence people, it's gone. I lost it when I came of age. Apparently it doesn't run in the family line. I could never do it well, but I can't do it at all anymore, so you won't ever have to worry about it again."

Diana swallowed. She licked her lips as she watched Sasha, still a little mistrustfully. After a minute she edged back over to the couch and sat down, giving one last glance to the coffee table suspiciously.

She then looked down at her hands. "What did those people want with you?"

Sasha, too, sat down. He looked at the girl across from him, unsure as to the amount of information he should divulge. He made the decision to not overload her with too much new information today. "It was a misunderstanding. They thought I was someone else, someone who's causing trouble..."

Sasha paused, taking a breath. One of the elders had said something as he left, hadn't they? He had only barely heard it, concentrating too hard on finding Diana.

"_If he hasn't caused the damage, who has?"_

What did that mean? Was there another one going around? A Rogue that hadn't been fortunate enough to be picked by Nature? Or was this more sinister?

Sasha had always wondered about how he had ended up where he had. From one orphanage to another. From that to the streets. From the streets to Voldemort. A series of events, each one contributing to the next, an inescapable web of destiny. But he was not affected by destiny. The Shira walked outside of fate. So why was it that everything had such a smattering of destiny to it?

If even one of the major events of his life had occurred differently, would he be there today? If there hadn't been a fire in his first orphanage, if he had never ventured up to that old dementia ridden woman, if he hadn't ran away and he hadn't stepped straight in front of Voldemort. He couldn't have possibly ended up in the same place. What would be different? Would he be dead in a gutter, or normal with a nice, loving family?

Sasha frowned suddenly. He had almost had it. He could almost touch the conclusion, reach the answer. But it was gone now. Any inspiration he had been suddenly granted to illuminate the truth was now gone but not forgotten. Why did things happen the way they had? It was a question he would save for another time.

"It was all sorted out though, so it's okay." Sasha finished, realising that he had just stopped talking.

Diana was quiet. "How did they know about me?" She asked.

"I..." Stopping, Sasha scowled, "...don't know, actually... But they won't be a problem for you again."

If Diana was relieved, she didn't change her expression of wary hostility. Yet Sasha could sense that she was relaxing slightly—very slightly.

"I'm so sorry you got involved in this, Diana." Sasha said again, "I never thought anyone would find you; I took every precaution each time I came here."

Diana nodded, but it didn't seem to indicate anything other than acknowledgement that he was talking. She was a tough nut to crack when she got into character. "So that's where you were, all those years? With those... Enoch?"

"No, not with them. They're a relatively new... ah, addition to my life."

"Then who was that boss you said you were working for? The top secret one."

"Voldemort." Sasha said. "I worked for him."

Diana frowned at the name. "The man in that ballroom where you left me?" She questioned.

Sasha suddenly understood her confusion. "He's human, Diana." He said.

Diana shuddered, "Are you sure?" She asked softly, "There was something about him; he didn't feel nearly as normal as those other two."

Trying not to make his amused smile too noticeable, Sasha shrugged, "Voldemort does have that effect on people. But he _is_ human; he's a wizard."

"Wizard?" Diana cried exasperatedly. "There's more than just... you people?" She said, clearly meaning Shira, or Enoch, since Sasha hadn't divulged the technical term to her.

Sasha leaned forward in his chair, an empathetic look on his face as he nodded.

"What else is there?"

"Anything you've ever heard of—from books, TV, films—they're probably real."

Paling, Diana ran through the implications in her head. "Vampires?" She received a nod, "Werewolves?" Another nod, "Ghosts?"

"Pretty much everything."

"Oh my god..." She groaned, falling back into her couch.

Sasha was suddenly struck by a thought. "Did he threaten you? Voldemort, I mean, did he hurt you?"

"Your boss? No. Not really. He just started hissing at me. Like actually hissing. Like a snake." She shivered as she remembered the event.

"Yeah," Sasha said, "He does that." He wasn't going to tell her that he was probably speaking parseltongue; he figured it would be a bit much for Diana's first explanation of the wizarding world.

Sasha was pleased to see that Diana wasn't injured mentally or physically to any great extent. That was almost miraculous. He would have to remember to thank Voldemort profusely for having such restraint.

"What's a muggle?" Diana asked suddenly.

Sasha raised a brow. "It's a person who can't perform magic."

"Oh," She through her head back in understanding, "That explains why he was calling me that."

Sasha looked around the room, feeling guilty all of a sudden, though he couldn't figure why, "He's not mad on non-magical folk." He said apologetically.

"I figured."

The room quietened. Sasha studied Diana. She didn't look as traumatised as before. With the cigarette still in her mouth, the colour was coming back to her cheeks. She didn't seem to be rocking or in shock.

Running a hand through his hair, Sasha stood up, he swayed slightly on his feet, all of the travelling was exhausting him and depleting his magic rapidly. "Are you okay with all of this?" He asked softly.

"It's crazy." Diana said, "I know it is. But I'm not going to freak out anymore if that's what you're thinking."

Sasha nodded gratefully. "That's good. I need to go. I left a bit of a mess behind me... You understand, right?"

Waving a hand, Diana muttered, "Yeah, whatever. I don't need you here." She blinked and with a _crack_, the space where Sasha had stood was vacant. Shuddering, Diana closed her eyes and tried not to think about everything she had just learned.

It wasn't easy.


	23. Chapter 22

_Thanks for all the reviews. Enjoy!_

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><p>...<p>

_Chapter 22_

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**{Ennochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha arrived back in Shiran Territories at the small well that he had departed away from not that long ago. Looking around, he saw that everyone was gone. His father, Navaa and all the others had left. He was alone now, with no one else present but for a single woman. The Shiran elder, Diari Vehgal.

She was standing by the well, her fingers brushing over the stone surface. She looked bored and irritated by her being there. Sasha didn't blame her; he was partly put out that he had to be there too. Oh yes, he knew that he would receive at least some of his answers, he knew that what he was about to learn would be valuable and important but there was a little part of him that had just wanted to return home.

Had he been dealing with another master and potentially another elder, Sasha would have returned to Voldemort and briefly explained what was happening and when that was done, he would have ventured to the elder. But neither Voldemort nor Diari Vehgal were patient people and Sasha, frankly, would rather try his chances with Voldemort.

He thought he would anyway. Sasha could envisage regretting his actions greatly later, when he was back with Voldemort.

"Your affairs are in order, yes?"

Diari Vehgal strolled around the small well. She looked at Sasha questioningly, raising a high brow on a face that was much too young for her many years.

"Yes." Sasha lied. There was a lot that still needed to be done, but he guessed—probably correctly—that Diari didn't care all that much.

"Good," She replied briskly, "Because I will require your full attention for this. I do not have time to repeat myself or go back at a later stage."

It was a good thing that Sasha wasn't easily offended; Shira didn't seem to care for tactful approaches to anything. They were blunt and straight forward. "You won't need to do that; I'm ready."

Observing him with a critical eye, Diari decided on his worthiness, "This is the Well of Balance," She said, gesturing to the small stone structure, "When the universe is quiet and Balance is content, the water is still and clear. From its depths, we can witness both prophecies and pasts."

As the Elder spoke, Sasha approached the well and took a look into its waters. They weren't as clear as they should have been; black oil-like patches dotted the surface with dark tendrils emitting outwards. The presence of these unidentified blobs did not bother him, but Sasha saw Diari shudder each time her eyes fell over them.

"We can become one with Balance—become so absolutely connected to him in a way that makes us lose our identity. There is nothing more peaceful and reassuring than to see through Balance's perspective and to _know_ beyond all other knowing that what we are doing is just, is right, is beautiful.

"We can lose ourselves for days at a time when we peer inside the well and we have lost young Shira before, those who were too foolish to stay away until they were strong enough. The risk, however, is minimal to one who knows their own power and the rewards are unimaginable..."

She smiled as she trailed off, thinking happily about the last time she had experienced it herself. Her face returned to its usual cold appearance then as she pushed herself away from the well, "But you will never experience this; you are Nature's boy."

"Why should that make a difference?" Sasha asked to the retreating back of the Elder.

"There are better places to discuss such things. Come."

He followed her out of the ruins and into the field of wheat that surrounded them. Sasha looked around as he walked. From the ruins, the wheat seemed endless, but as he entered into it, a thick fog descended onto them and after only a few steps, they were suddenly in a different setting without any trace of fog or wheat.

Trees nestled into the uneven ground around a babbling creek. It was peaceful there, quiet. Moss blossomed under Sasha's feet and cushioned his passage through the peaceful setting. Diari led him towards the side of the creak and sat herself down, leaning her back against a tree that had twisted and curled with age. She motioned for Sasha to sit beside her.

He followed her lead and rested himself upon the slightly damp moss. They sat for a little while in silence, staring out into the creek in front of them. Sasha brought his knees up and rested his chin on them, his arms wrapping around his legs. All that travel was taking his toll on him. He could feel the subtle shaking in his body reminding him that he was near exhaustion.

Just a little while longer now.

Soon he would be able to go to bed, but not yet. Not until he finished with this elder.

"It brings peace to you, does it not? This place?" Diari asked with a sideways glance.

"Yes."

Half a smile touched her lips, "Your great-grandmother loved it here. It was her home away from home. She came here when her presence was necessary in this realm. She took no joy from leaving the other world—her only consolation was this place." Sighing, Diari looked around, "I, on the other hand, take no joy from being here. My home is on this plane, Balance is close to us, the proximity comforts us, reminds us of our place and of our duty, without the pressure to perform it.

Diari sighed. "You are your father's son, but you will never be like him. The road ahead of you will be lonely. There are no other Scions of Nature—only you—and you will never feel completely at ease away from your mistress. You are destined to find peace near her; you will never be compatible with Balance."

"Paveh told me I could have more than one master. He said that Nature wasn't possessive. Why wouldn't I be compatible with Balance?" Sasha frowned.

Diari didn't answer his question. "Do you know how the universe was created?" She asked instead.

"I know what the humans believe happened." He said slowly. "I know what _muggles _believe happened."

"Then you know nothing." She replied softly. "You need to understand this. It is the basis of everything you wish to learn."

"Okay." Sasha shuffled, sitting straighter now that he was going to actually learn something.

"It begins in the Before, when Everything was Nothing and there was only Nothing. No darkness, no light, no life or death or time. Just nothing. Stagnant, reality stewed within itself for an eternity. But these things cannot last and Life will always find a way to exist. First, came Light. And with him, Darkness was born. These were the first gods. Barely sentient, barely aware—but alive.

"Both Light and Darkness joined together and from them came Time, Energy, Fire, Water, Earth and Air. They existed together but separate from each other and the potential of what they could become. Soon, through their own volition, two more gods were born; these gods were Creation and Destruction and from them came Life, Death and Chaos.

"Through the combined powers of these gods the world was created and Life began to truly take its place within their universe, but there was a problem; nothing could exist for long. Each of the new gods were warring with one and other, having no idea how to exist together in peace. This continued for many, many eons until suddenly, Balance appeared—to this day we do not know how. He gathered all the gods and put them under his control, ensuring that all of them had equality and their own place in the universe.

"Yet there was one god that Balance could not control; Chaos. She had always been the most powerful of her brothers and sisters and she constantly opposed Balance's rule. She and Balance became rivals, each as powerful as the other, both vying for control of their more impressionable siblings. They were a different type of being from their parent gods, Light, Darkness, Creation and Destruction, who were barely sentient. These Gods had consciousness and minds. They had wants and desires. That was why Chaos and Balance could not exist easily together.

"They fought in a great war. It encompassed the universe and through their attempts they destroyed a great deal of planets, solar systems and even galaxies. They travelled far, coming eventually to the end of eternity; The Abyss. A place where not even gods could survive. It was on the edge of the Abyss that Balance and Chaos found themselves—both worn down to the bare essence of their former selves. Each one as unlikely to land the final winning strike on the other.

"Instead, they made a truce; neither one willing to risk their existence even with the possibility of ending that of their enemy. For one time only, they made a pact to help each other find their way back to their siblings and they would begin to work out their next course of action once they got back. They travelled for countless millennia, helping each other in their quest for their home.

"During their travels, they grew close. They made a union and that union bore them a child, the first of a new generation of gods; Nature. Unlike later gods who became less powerful, Nature had the combined strengths of her parents. And just as her parents were more sentient than their predecessors, Nature too was more intelligent, more aware. When the three of them returned to the others, Chaos and Balance went back to their struggle and Nature rose in power.

"She cared for Life and accepted Death, she utilised Time and Energy and Fire, Earth, Water and Air. She created worlds, stable and inhabitable and she, with the help of her father, established order, but Nature was also Chaos' daughter and Balance could not fully control her. Nature was always on the brink of Chaos and yet constantly contributing to Balance. She is unique among her siblings—there are no others like her.

"Balance and Chaos started a different kind of warfare in light of their daughter's creation. Balance, taking advantage of the goddess' distraction with her child, trapped Chaos, locking her away in an unbreakable prison. Bodily, she was restrained. Yet Chaos still attacked at the edges of Balance's influence, corrupting creatures to do her bidding. In retaliation, Balance started to defend his territory by creating a people in his image."

"Shira." Sasha guessed.

"Yes, Shira." Diari agreed, "And Nature took the idea of Shira and changed them into her own image. The end result, of course, being you and yours, the Scions of Nature. Do you see now why you cannot find peace in Balance's presence?"

Sasha thought about it for a moment. "Because Nature is half Chaos?" He asked.

A nod, "Yes. You, like Nature, will always have one foot in Chaos and one in Balance. You are enough of a Shira to be welcomed here, but not enough for you to be content in this place."

"I see."

"You will live a lonely existence if you dedicate your life solely to Nature, but I imagine you will not be able to turn your back on her, no matter how small the issue." Diari stopped for a moment, "But then, perhaps not; you have not come about in a normal way, have you?"

Frowning, Sasha asked, "What do you mean?"

"You learned magic before you were awakened, yes?"

"Yes."

"And you were awakened at only seventeen, yes?"

"Yes."

"_That_ is interesting..." Diari mused.

"I don't understand." Sasha said.

"It can only mean two things; either Nature is planning something and she desperately needs a servant to carry out her wishes, which leads me to deduce that you are merely the first one to arrive that is in any way compatible with her. In which case she would have granted you use of your powers at an early age. Or, you are stronger than you should be for one your age and perhaps, Nature was wise to pick you up so young."

"Which one is it?" Sasha asked.

Diari shrugged, "I do not claim to know the mind's of the gods."

"It could be both." Sasha suggested.

Nodding, Diari agreed, "Perhaps, it will all be revealed in time, I imagine. Either way, I fear Nature will have a tight leash on you." She was smiling though, so she couldn't have been that afraid for him.

"But that is enough time spent hypothesising. You need to learn about your current status." Diari continued, "Your bond with Nature is still young. You will not experience much of her and she will not ask much of you. But as you age, it will grow. She will become a companion—almost constant. You will instinctively know what to do for her and she will guide you if you need her help in any area of your life. Balance lets his servants wonder, but Nature is a present mistress. For you, more so, since you are her only servant."

"What—what will she make me do?"

Diari shrugged, "I cannot say exactly," She admitted, "Ziza, your great-grandmother, rarely spoke of what she did. Occasionally she would speak of going places and talking to humans—guiding them. Other times, she would partake in battles that humans started or she would do something as small as stopping a river being dammed after a storm. Her work rarely made sense, but then, often we cannot see the point of our own actions until much later."

Sasha nodded. He wondered if his 'bond' with Nature would affect his time with Voldemort. He almost scowled when he realised that it already had. He almost frowned when he remembered what he would be going back to.

"And what happens next? To me, I mean? Do I get training or something?"

Diari snorted, "Training? And who would teach you, hmm? Me? What would I know of your people's ways? No, you will not be trained by any of us. If you wish for more information, you should ask Paveh."

"Paveh?"

"His grandmother left him all her books, her journals. If he still has them, hasn't burned or thrown them away, he _should_ let you take a look. Ziza kept fastidious notes; she would come here to write them. Any information we have on her kind will be in Paveh's care."

Sasha frowned, remembering his last attempt at looking around Paveh's personal library. It hadn't gone well. "I doubt he'll let me see them."

Humming, Diaria tapped her chin in thought. She chose her words carefully. "Paveh's issues with his grandmother will not affect his feelings of responsibility to you. He is still young, but he is reliable. And kind hearted. He would not want to think of you suffering because of his own feelings. He will show them to you; but you must give him some time."

"Why is he so strange about his grandmother?" Sasha questioned.

"Ziza loved Paveh very much," Diari said with a sigh, "She believed he was special, stronger than a great many other Shira. But she was so sure of this that she began to suspect he may be like her; a Scion of Nature. You must understand that Paveh is a _very_ powerful Shira. In all his time, he has not failed Balance once. He was the fastest of his generation to learn our ways, the fastest to practice them too. But he was not a Scion—despite his vast range of abilities.

"Ziza could not see that though, she brought him to the other plane. Tried to convince Nature to accept her grandson. But she would not. It broke Ziza. In many ways she was lonely; her child was on here, inaccessible to her but for short visits and there were no other Scions for a very long time before that either. Paveh became a desperate hope for her and for all of the boy's brilliance; he had no alternative but to fail in this one thing. She started to go downhill from there.

"When she decided to accept Death and return to the Cycle, she left all of her things to Paveh. He blamed himself for her death, thinking he was the one that ultimately caused it. Who knows where he got the idea from; Ziza was a strong woman and I know she had often considered leaving. She loved her grandson but he could not be told he was guiltless. He locked away her things and kept them hidden, refusing to think about them for the longest time."

She stopped for a moment and glanced at Sasha knowingly, "Until you came along, that is." She said, "You forced him to face these things again. To read the journals with a pair of eyes that was older, less subjective. Perhaps this was Nature's influence? Perhaps she was trying to right the wrong she did against the young boy that she could not accept? Perhaps. Who knows? Either way, I am convinced Paveh will not stand in your way, even if some of his pain will still linger with him for a little while longer."

Sasha nodded absently. He wondered when he would get the time to see his father again. Voldemort was waiting impatiently back home for him and he doubted the Dark Lord was going to let him out of his sights any time soon; there was a war going on, after all.

With the thought of the war, Sasha suddenly remembered the black patches in the well. Curious as to their nature, he asked Diari. The Elder's jaw tightened and her features went hard once more. She looked away from Sasha, staring at nothing much other than a patch of shrubbery.

When Sasha started to think she wouldn't answer, Diari spoke, "Those are the physical manifestations of Chaos." Her voice was quiet, so low that Sasha had to strain to hear her, "When the universe goes out of balance, they appear in the well. The more there are, the worse things are for us."

Sasha hesitated before asking the question. "How bad is it now?"

"It is bad." It was barely a whisper, "I should not be telling you this; we elders have agreed to keep it quiet. But you are not the cause of this problem and you are the one that will be down on the other plane. You may be of service to us; your senses cover further distances down there than ours."

A slight crease across his forehead proved that he was intent on her words, "Go on." He coaxed.

Diari turned to him and leaned in, her mouth going inches from his ear. "Mutiny." Was what she whispered in his ear, as if she was afraid someone might overhear.

Sasha was quiet. There was mutiny in their ranks? A double agent, working for... "Chaos?" He asked.

"Greed, more likely. I sense a personal agenda, though I cannot think what that is."

At a loss for words, Sasha looked around with mild paranoia. "I don't understand," He admitted, "How can this happen? Aren't you... biologically programmed to follow one master, to follow Balance? How can you go against that?"

Diari was undeniably grim looking, "Time is a powerful god," She muttered, "He can warp a great many things, twist them, decay them, change them... Whoever this _bastard_ is, he has been freed from his bond. He is selfish, greedy, narrow-minded, amoral. He _will_ be caught. He _will_ be killed." She spat spitefully.

Sasha looked down at his hands as he considered the elder's words. "You want me to...find this person?" He asked, hoping that she didn't. Sasha didn't think he could fit anything else on his plate right at that moment.

Thankfully, Diari shook her head, "No. Your bond with Nature is still young. She may not give you anything. But I am asking you to be aware of things that are happening around you. Nature is shrewd, she will be alerted to influences out of her power, she will sense the meddling of a Shira when it is not invited."

"Okay." Sasha said, "Alright, I'll do my best. Thank you. For your help; thank you." He stood up, already thinking of going back to Voldemort.

"Sasha, before you go," Diari interrupted him, "You should know that if you do find the traitor, we do not wish for you to approach him; he or she is older than you are and likely to be a great deal more powerful. Call us. We will aid you. In this, you are not alone. Scion or Shira, you are family."

Nodding, Sasha once again thanked her before turning and beginning to walk away. He wondered how Nature would contact him with the news of an interloper. Would it be a word in his ear? A compulsion to go somewhere? Would there be a sudden knowledge injected into his mind? Or would Nature send something, another creature, perhaps? A funny image of a 'Lassie' scenario struck Sasha.

"_What is it girl?" Sasha would say._

"_Woof!"_

"_What? Little Timmy fell down a well?"_

"_Woof, woof."_

"_And he's the traitor? Lead the way, girl!"_

His amusement at the possibility faded as he was suddenly struck by a thought, he stopped and turned back to the elder. "Do you know anything about a creature called a ngen?" He didn't know why his mind supplied the question of the mysterious creature Ruebus Hagrid had showed him in Hogwarts, but who was he to deny it?

Diari smiled knowingly, "A rare beast," She said, "The ngen are limited to only one existing at a single time. They serve Nature as aides to her Scion. Only the strongest, most worthy Scions can control a ngen. I have never seen such a creature; though I hear it is a sight to behold. They are loyal beasts that can be summoned if the circumstances are correct and a Scion is true. If Nature has awarded you with a ngen, Sasha Kamenev, you had better watch yourself; she has made plans for you."

Nodding, Sasha said "Good bye, Diari." And he made his final inter-dimensional travel that night.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Severus Snape stormed through the halls of Hogwarts, ignoring the startled and confused looks of students as he barrelled through them with one thought on his mind; tell Dumbledore.

He raced up the stairs, two at a time, and was shouting out the password to the headmaster's room before he fully even made it there. This couldn't wait, it was urgent.

The stone gargoyle grumbled as it scrapped across the floor and moved to accommodate the rapidly approaching visitor. If gargoyles had any interest in such things, it might have wondered what was so important that the potions master had to sprint as if aiming for a finish line. But gargoyles were boring creatures and took little interest in the world around them if it went beyond what they could witness first-hand.

Severus had ascended the stair case before the gargoyle had even begun to move back.

He knocked on the door to the headmaster's office, his hands closing and opening in his nervousness.

"Come in." Dumbledore's soft voice called from behind the door.

Snape opened it quickly and strode in, his eyes travelling across the room until he spotted the old man sitting at his desk. "Headmaster," Snape announced, "I have worrying news."

"Go on." Dumbledore said, his whole body heaving in anticipation of the next weight to his shoulders.

"Sasha Kamenev," Snape said, "The boy who went missing. He's not dead; he's in league with the Dark Lord."

"Ah..." Dumbledore sighed, looking down at his hands in disappointment, "It is as we suspected."

"Sir?" Snape asked in confusion, surprised that Dumbledore had already heard it when Snape himself had just witnessed the event.

Dumbledore tapped his hand against the wood of his desk in thought. "Now is as good a time as any to tell you, I suppose," The headmaster said, "This is—"

Albus was interrupted by the deep voice of a cloaked figure standing half-hidden in the corner of the room. "Names are not necessary." He rumbled ominously. Dumbledore, whose hand had been pointed in the stranger's direction, dropped his arm. "Quite." He agreed quietly, "He is a... friend, Severus; he wishes to help us against Voldemort."

"It is time for me to leave." The stranger announced suddenly, "Do not forget what I have said."

Dumbledore nodded but the man in the cloak did not see him as he had already left the office with a flourish of his garments.

"Who is he, Albus?" Severus demanded as soon as the door closed.

"He does not wish for his identity to be known, we must respect that." Dumbledore responded.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Snape asked, "And you trust him?"

"We must." It was not desperation that Snape saw on the headmaster's face but something close; a sort of involuntary determination.

"Is he a Death Eater?" Snape asked, trying to make sense of the situation. Clearly that man had told the headmaster that Sasha Kamenev was in league with Voldemort. But how could he have known? The identity of the Dark Lord's right hand had been the best kept secret in Britain until today.

"No, he is not. He is... unaffiliated with any side in the war."

"But—"

Severus was interrupted softly by Dumbledore's weary voice. "I really cannot go into details about it, Severus. I am afraid I must ask you to just accept this for now."

Snape looked like he wanted to fight it. But instead he just hung his head. "Very well." He said curtly, "What has he told you about the boy?"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore replied, "Only that he is with Voldemort. That he is loyal and won't be turned."

Snape assumed that the stranger had said more than that, but Dumbledore did not wish to impart anything else to him. He would deny it, of course, if he was asked, but Dumbledore clearly wanted him kept in the dark. Whether that was because he didn't trust Snape or he was keeping him safe, Severus wasn't sure.

"Now," Dumbledore continued kindly, "Is there anything else you wished to discuss, Severus? You must forgive me but I do have some papers I am required to have done by tomorrow."

Snape regarded Dumbledore intently; it was unlike the old man to want to get rid of him so quickly, with work due in the morning or not. Why the sudden change? Something had happened. Snape wasn't sure what, but it was important. Important enough for Dumbledore to seize up and either seek solitude from the world, or from him. If it was the latter, Snape would have cause to be worried. If so, he wondered if perhaps he had chosen the wrong side to be loyal to.

In a frenzied moment of panic, Severus Snape wondered if he could change sides. Was there a way for him to truly benefit from complete loyalty to Voldemort? That moment quickly passed however, and Snape scolded himself for thinking so rashly.

"Good night, Headmaster." He said with a nod as he turned and left the office, closing the door perhaps a little harder than necessary.

Albus Dumbledore watched him go, eyes tired and full of worry.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha couldn't help it; he let out a strangled cry between gritted teeth. The _Crucio_ was more than a sufficient reminder to never displease Voldemort.

He wasn't under it for long, however and soon the Dark Lord broke the curse. Sasha stayed on his hands and knees for a moment, panting. It hadn't been the worst bout of the spell he had ever received, but he was tired and weary and had been taken off guard. At least it hadn't lasted too long; Sasha had seen gruesome results from prolonged exposure to the _Cruciatus _and he wasn't eager to experience any of them.

"You would _dare_ pick that filth muggle over me!" Voldemort hissed, his voice thick with raw emotion.

"I didn't—"

"_Crucio!_"

The curse hit Sasha again and he shuddered with the pain. It barely began and it was over, more of a warning than an actual punishment.

Sasha's fingers twitched from both of the _crucios_ and the damage they had caused internally. Shaking his head, Sasha sat back on his heels. He regarded Voldemort thoughtfully. The Dark Lord was pacing in fury, eyes blazing and lips pulled back in a snarl. It had been a long time since Sasha had seen him this angry.

"You are _my_ servant—no one else's. _I _am your _master_, do you understand me?"

"Yes." Sasha replied wisely.

"I want that muggle dead. I want her head on a platter and presented to me." Voldemort hissed.

Sasha sighed, "That's not going to happen." He said.

Before he knew it, Sasha was back under the _Crucio_, this time for longer and with much more intensity. He fell straight to the floor and screamed, curling into himself in the hopes of lessening the pain. When the curse stopped, Sasha sagged and stayed on the floor, breathing hard and trying to calm his racing heart. He was going to have to start getting wise or he'd have a heart attack with the way Voldemort was dishing out curses.

As Sasha composed himself and—very slowly—got himself back onto his knees, Voldemort silently watched. Moving to rise to his feet, Voldemort closed the distance between Sasha and himself and pushed him back down.

"Stay." He commanded.

Sasha narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Voldemort grabbed the side of his neck possessivly. "You. Are. Mine." He said slowly, sternly. When Sasha didn't respond to that statement, Voldemort tightened his grip and leaned in, snarling, "Say it."

"I'm yours." Sasha said.

"And who is your master?" Voldemort demanded.

"This is ridicu—"

"—Answer me!" Voldemort roared.

Unable to stop himself, Sasha flinched. "You are." He replied.

Voldemort let go and whirled away, striding to the other end of the room, back facing Sasha.

Sasha brought a shaky hand up and rubbed the spot where Voldemort had been grasping him; it was tender and sore. His eyes stayed on the Dark Lord, conscious that he should be aware of the man's movements. He had expected Voldemort to be upset; he had expected the man to be angry, but not to this extent. This was beyond the Dark Lord's usual range of emotionality.

"You are _my_ servant." Voldemort repeated, this time quieter, more to himself than Sasha.

Still, Sasha answered, "I know."

Turning around, Voldemort addressed Sasha again. "You are mine—and only mine. That muggle girl has no claim to you and neither will anyone else. Not even Nature will take you away should you ever become her servant." Voldemort promised.

Sasha had forgotten that Voldemort didn't know. So much had happened since Sasha had found out that he was actually a Scion of Nature that he almost assumed it was old news. He wasn't certain he wanted to tell Voldemort with the state he was in.

"I'm already her servant." Sasha said, trying not to cringe when Voldemort stiffened, "Turns out you're either born one or not. I never needed any rituals; I was already a legitimate servant."

Voldemort was still too angry to be calmed down. He barely even registered what Sasha was saying, only got the gist of it. "So you think now that you have another master you can wander away from me, do what you like? I'd sooner see you dead than in the hands of someone else."

Sasha was at a loss of words, unsure what to make of what Voldemort just said. Slowly, Sasha licked his lips and said quietly, "You can't have all of me."

He hadn't meant it as a challenge, only a reminder that he was already bound to Nature. Voldemort took it up as a challenge and his eyes flashed.

"_I_ am the Dark Lord Voldemort; there is _no one _greater. I can take what I please. If I desire you then I shall have you. All of you."

Sasha shook his head. "I'm not trying to deny you anything, but you can't have everything; the world doesn't work that way. "

"My world will."

Sighing, Sasha chanced getting up onto his feet. "Maybe," Sasha conceded, "But you will never be the only person in the world and I'm not a dog you can lock up and order to heel."

Voldemort stared in fury. "What do you think you are, if not a dog? If not _my_ dog?" His voice was quiet but that made it all the more deadly.

Sasha looked down at the floor angrily. He knew the Dark Lord was speaking out of anger but it was still hard to hear. "I may be nothing more than a worthless dog," Sasha admitted, "But even a dog will break its chain if it's tied down too tightly."

"You will learn your place." Voldemort promised darkly.

"I already know my place; I have sat happily in _my place_ for the last four years. I have not abandoned you, I haven't betrayed you. There was no power struggle; it wasn't a case of me choosing anyone over you. All I did was bring a scared girl home, that's it. I brought her home and left her there. I came back to you, my Lord. Even if I am just a dog, I will always be your faithful servant."

Voldemort turned away from Sasha. The room was quiet. For a long time neither of them spoke. Sasha could never tell if he said the right things to Voldemort and it never ceased to amaze him what got through and what didn't. Standing in the silence of the room, awaiting a response, Sasha wasn't sure if Voldemort would outright kill him or just dismiss him for the night. When it appeared that Voldemort was not going to speak, Sasha made his mind up for him.

"I'm going to bed." He told his master.

Sasha turned on his heel and made to leave the room. His hand closed around the doorknob before Voldemort spoke.

"Seven months…" He said, his voice devoid of any trace of anger, "For seven months I believed you were dead. But then you came back. When I woke up and found you gone…The first time you left, I mourned for you. I cannot… I don't want to happen again."

Sasha paused by the door. Voldemort had mourned for him? Did that mean he had missed Sasha? Did it mean he cared for Sasha? It was a silly notion that Sasha tried to push aside, but it wouldn't quite go. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"Good night, my Lord." He said and left the room.


	24. Chapter 23

...

_Chapter 23_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Diana had been pardoned. It was not, however, something that had been passively attained; Voldemort had still very much wanted to have her head the morning after their argument. Sasha and he had once again debated the matter and eventually Voldemort had conceded to calling off the hunt. He did, however, point out that should the muggle ever darken his door again, he would not hesitate in killing her instantly.

This was a term Sasha could deal with.

Voldemort eventually admitted he had been speaking out of anger and that his actions had been rash. Then, out of embarrassment of his weakness, he told Sasha to remove himself from his sight. Go anywhere, he didn't care.

So, to allow the Dark Lord time to heal his wounded pride, Sasha left the manor and went to his father in the Shiran Territories. His choice had less been out of a desire to spend time with the man and more out of an interest as to what was in the journals of Sasha's great-grandmother.

After arriving at his father's place, however, Paveh had approached him, not in joy, but in anger. He lectured Sasha on his life choices. Voldemort, it seemed, was not the sort of person Paveh's son should be aligning himself with—especially not in the intimate way he was 'aligning' himself with Voldemort. He cringed to think of Sasha serving a human master and was horrified to think that he would be doing so for as long as Voldemort's immortality lasted.

Sasha didn't know what had brought on his father's sudden bout of parental protection but he was sure it had something to do with the removal of the problem of his illegitimacy. Thankfully, Navaa had showed up then and had upbraided Paveh on Sasha's behalf, mentioning that Paveh had not shown the best judgement when he became involved with one Lily Potter either.

"At least _Sasha_ won't do anything that will leave me as an accomplice to his crimes." She had said as she walked off to help herself to whatever was in Paveh's fridge.

Sasha didn't quite understand how Navaa had so much control over his father, but the woman seemed to knock the fight right out of him. Paveh eventually conceded to letting Sasha make his own 'mistakes' and then also to allowing him access to his grandmother's books.

Once Paveh left the room in a sullen mood, Navaa had entered. She told Sasha why his father was acting so involved all of a sudden; guilt. It was simple really; Paveh felt guilt over his son being captured by the elders—even though it had turned out to be nothing of any danger. They had noticed Paveh's recent trips out of Shiran Territories and had called him in, looking in his memories to find Sasha.

Paveh, it seemed, had been spying on him longer than he knew. His father had been watching him when he went to see Diana all those months ago. It was how the elders knew where to find her—and him. Navaa claimed that Paveh was beating himself up over his inability to protect his son. Sasha made the very conscious decision to stay out of his father's way until the man got over his little bout of guilt. It was an area that Sasha had no understanding of and could think of no solutions to.

Instead, he decided to read the journals of Nature's last Scion.

Sasha sat in the old library carefully turning pages of ancient, flaking texts. His great-grandmother, it seemed, was fond of jotting down her thoughts and even if Sasha dedicated a hundred years to reading the books, he wasn't sure he would finish them. Who knew how long Paveh's grandmother had lived for? How old could she have possibly have been? Even if she only wrote one journal a year, that was still a few thousand books to read. Sasha knew he would never finish them and time was short.

Who knew what valuable information might have been within the covers, but Sasha simply could not spend the time sifting through them. Instead, he chose a few and started reading.

His great-grandmother, Ziza, had written extensively on her life. She wrote of things that were both mundane and brilliant. She wrote about the evolution of man. Man discovers fire, man starts to speak, man builds with sticks and lives in groups. She wrote of her duties; whispering in the ear of a woman, leading a herd of horses into a valley, associating with Dementor's and conversing with centaurs. Most of her work seemed pointless to Sasha and he couldn't quite make out what compelled her to do those things. She called it just that; a compulsion, to act, to think, to feel and a voice, murmuring through her mind, filling her with thoughts and feelings that were not her own.

Sasha understood that last bit; Nature contacted him in much the same way. She was loud when he was alone, but once Voldemort was with him, the voice was quiet or not at all there. He continued to read.

Ziza wrote mostly of things that Sasha had already suspected or had figured out for himself, however, as Sasha moved onto a new journal—his great-grandmother's last journal—the writing changed and Sasha moved in closer.

It began ordinary, with Ziza explaining her position beside a waterfall in a forest. She wrote about a dream she had the night before. A dream that was more than a dream. A prophecy. She had never before experienced prophecies but for the conscious ones provided to her by Nature, and this was different. She wrote of what she saw;

"_The sun has darkened. Colder, these past few months. Chaos stands ready. Nature weeps. Balance flees. The woods are quiet. The creatures hiding. All moments, all instances, all leading to this. To now. Chaos is approaching. Nature is overwhelmed. Balance fears. All lives that came before lived for the purpose of setting this scene. 'Now' is governed by the actions of the past. And all the actions of the past were built for this moment. The End draws near."_

Sasha continued to read.

The writings slowly became more depressive.

"_There is nothing I can do..."_

"_Powerless."_

"_All my life has meant nothing..."_

Soon, they became less coherent.

"_Circles, spirals, cycles...what does it all mean?"_

"_Everything...meant for another."_

"_No help. No aid. Only solitude."_

"_Oblivion awaits. Pulls inside and never lets go."_

"_There is no end. Eternal suffering."_

"_Only possession can break it."_

"_Salvation comes from surrender."_

Ziza's mental condition began to deteriorate and Sasha followed her progress into insanity through her writings. Then, the writing stopped. There were no more entries, no endings. She had just put down the pen one day and stopped writing. But Sasha knew the true ending; his great-grandmother had accepted death. She had made her peace and left her duties behind.

Closing the book, Sasha sat back on his chair and puffed out a breath. He rubbed his eyes with his hand and decided to return to Voldemort.

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

Voldemort had ordered Sasha to leave his sight. Sasha did as was asked and, after waiting a respectable time, he had returned to his master. Voldemort had immediately bombarded him with the chores he had apparently been neglecting to do.

It was the reason why Sasha was standing, hunched over a desk with a scowl on his features.

He had been alone, but then the door squeaked open and Lucius Malfoy ambled in the room. "My Lord." He greeted Sasha as he always did; in a voice that seemed ever-so-amused by it all.

"Hello Lucius." Sasha replied after a moment's lag, trying to pull his mind away from his work and concentrate on the blond Death Eater. "And what can I do for you?" He asked, straightening up and standing tall.

Lucius looked devious. Sasha didn't know why—and he wasn't sure he wanted to either.

"You've grown." Lucius stated simply.

Sasha wanted to give the man a bored stare, but it came out more suspicious than he would have liked. "You have seen me like this already, Lucius." He said with slight exasperation.

Strolling further into the room, Lucius continued; "The Dark Lord is a lucky man indeed." He smirked delightedly, his eyes going for a wander up and down Sasha's form.

Scowling from a lack of comprehension, Sasha came out with, "Did Bellatrix put you up to this?"

Bellatrix was known for her poor taste in jokes and while Sasha knew Lucius was attracted to him, the man had never really acted upon it. However, if Bella suggested it—as a joke, of course—then perhaps that would be enough of an incentive for Lucius Malfoy.

Judging by the confused look on his face though, Sasha guessed Bellatrix had not swayed his decision to approach him. Pity. If that had been the case, Sasha would have been able to better understand the reason for Lucius' actions.

Lucius took a step forward, coming closer to him. He looked down at the desk, eyeing the blueprints that Sasha had been studying.

"How goes the research?" He asked offhandedly; thumb flicking the curling corner of the paper.

Sasha ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Slow." He admitted, regarding the many sheets in front of him. "The work is... tedious."

Behind him, the fire crackled and spit, warming the skin on his hands.

"I can imagine." Lucius said with an overly genuine sympathy, his fingers brushing over the edge of the pages. "I may have had to smuggle them out of the Minstry but I thank my lucky stars that I do not have to do such... wearisome work. I should be quite content leaving such work in your capable hands."

"What is it that you want, Lucius?" Sasha asked again.

Eyes flickering back up to Sasha's face had Lucius Malfoy smirk. "I fear the Dark Lord does not appreciate you as fully as perhaps he should."

The words were soft, but they hit Sasha with a cold, hard sensation. "Are you... _testing_ my loyalty, Lucius?" Sasha demanded quietly, indignant at the thought.

From Lucius' amused grin, Sasha assumed he had missed the point. "Of course not; I know you are undyingly loyal to your master and he most assuredly favours you..."

Sasha most certainly hadn't missed the hidden 'but' in that sentence.

"But," Lucius continued, "There will come a time when he will grow bored of you and he will throw you away; our Lord _is_ a fickle man, after all."

Gazing squarely at him, Sasha asked, "What is it that you are trying to say, Lucius?"

Instead of moving closer, as Sasha might have expected, Lucius took a step backwards and slowly sauntered around, he made a farce of musing over Sasha's questions. Sasha folded his arms as he waited for the man to finish with his game. He looked down at his work almost longingly, wishing that Lucius would just let him continue. Lucius, however, was taking his time and nothing seemed likely to speed him up.

"Hmm," Lucius drew out his verdict, slyly making his way around the desk and closer to Sasha, "Perhaps it is that I am saying brilliance and beauty could be more appreciated in other company, by another man."

"And who would that be, Lucius?"

"Need you ask, Sasha?" Lucius moved in close, voice breathy and seductive, "I could give you everything—anything you ever wanted. All you'd have to do is ask and I would provide you with whatever your heart desired. Riches, beautiful things, silk sheets, the finest clothes—anything. Yours, all yours."

"You forget your place, Lucius." Sasha warned, his eyes narrowing.

Not losing his amused demeanour, Lucius inched closer to an already close Sasha, jutting his hip out to make the proximity less. Sasha was tall, but Lucius wore heels in his shoes and seemed to stoop over him.

Sasha refused to be intimidated.

"It is because I have _not_ forgotten my place that I am here now, telling you this. Had I merely continued with my own plans, you and I would not be here and_ I_ would have _you_ writhing under me in pleasure as you screamed out my name."

Sasha blinked.

Lucius had certainly thought this through. He wondered how long Lucius had entertained the notion of approaching him, how long had he sat in his study and imagined Sasha there with him acting like a lover and not a superior. He wondered how long Lucius had had those thoughts about him... It made him shiver—and not in a good way. Lucius was an interesting individual; he was handsome and of the best blood, he was a great host and a competent Death Eater. But he was old. Draco was Sasha's age. And frankly, other than Voldemort, Sasha hadn't much interest in men—or women for that matter; the Dark Lord took up most of his life and the Shira took up the rest. As impressive as Lucius was, he didn't get a look in.

And the dark promise that Lucius offered did not entice Sasha.

Lucius would never get what he so wanted. Sasha would never turn to him. They weren't even the same species. Not that the man knew that yet. He would eventually, though. Lucius would age and Draco would too. They would lose their youth, then their health and Sasha would not. He would age for a while, but not for long and his youth would become conspicuous. But that was later, some other time, some other place. Lucius was a good ally and a loyal Death Eater, Sasha felt like he owed it to him to stop him from doing anything stupid.

Taking a step back, Sasha gave a level stare towards Lucius and made sure his voice was less irritated and more reasonable.

"You know the nature of my relationship with Voldemort, Lucius; I suggest you watch the boundaries of ours'." He took a breath and spoke slowly so that Lucius was absolutelyclear on what he was saying, "Remember this the next time you even _think_ of me in that way; Voldemort _will_ kill you if he learns this is what you spend your time considering. If he knew that you were here, _conspiring_ against him to get to me, he would skin you alive in front of all of his followers and your own family."

Sasha stopped momentarily before continuing, "_I_ am not interested in your proposal; you need to know that. Any steps you make towards courting me are risky for you. You will put yourself in danger for something that will have no good end."

Unfortunately, this didn't put the man off.

"I know the dangers of finding beauty in the dragon's hoard," Lucius smirked self-assuredly, "But I _will_ have you yet, young one, and it is only a matter of time before the Dark Lord decides to move onto his next conquest."

Sasha was less convinced than Lucius on that matter but rather than getting into a heated debate on the subject, Sasha's mind was on making the man leave quickly.

"Maybe. But not today." He said, because he wanted to continue on with his work.

Lucius wasn't persuaded at Sasha's attempt to make him leave. He tutted, "I know you do not think so yet." He told Sasha, his hands hovering in the air around his face, as if Lucius wanted to touch him but knew that was crossing too much of a boundary—even for him. "But give it time. I am only asking you to consider this for the moment. Just acclimatise yourself to the notion. I fear you still have a while before the Dark Lord loses interest. You _are _a most _fascinating_ individual, after all. Think about it, Sasha; I can offer what he never could."

Lucius chose that moment to step back and create a little blessed distance between them. It was a good thing too because of all people; Voldemort chose that moment to enter.

"My Lord." Lucius greeted immediately, without showing any hint at guilt or shiftiness.

Sasha hadn't turned to face Voldemort and so he witnessed the ease at which Lucius changed demeanour. No wonder Voldemort didn't trust anyone. Sasha wouldn't either if he had been in the Dark Lord's situation.

"I was hoping to help your ward with his work, but he has assured me that my aid is not needed." Lucius lied smoothly.

"Is that so, Sasha?" Voldemort asked with a raised brow.

Unaffected by the tense atmosphere to the room, Sasha shrugged and returned to staring down at his work. "More or less." He replied distractedly.

He mildly wondered if Lucius took Sasha's vague answer as encouragement for future flirtation. Sasha certainly hoped not, he just wanted everyone gone.

"You may go, Lucius." Voldemort suddenly ordered with his attention now on firmly focused on Sasha.

"Of course, My Lord." Lucius complied with a bow, efficiently removing himself from the room.

Once the door shut, Voldemort wandered up towards the desk and over to Sasha, who tried to ignore the advance in a futile attempt to pick up where he left off. "What was Lucius saying to you, Sasha?" The tone of his voice was light, but there was darkness behind his words. That possessive streak of his was a hard one for him to mask.

"He told me I would be a welcome addition to his bed should you ever tire of me." Sasha replied nonchalantly as he picked up a quill and scribbled something at the side of the page.

Voldemort stiffened, his throat constricting in a sudden fury over having _his_ property being eyed up by an inferior being. "And what did you say?" He tried to sound uninterested and unconcerned; it came out tense and unconvincing.

"Before or after we had hot, raunchy sex on the desk?" Sasha asked, still looking down.

The fire crackled behind them, but Voldemort was dead quiet. Before the Dark Lord could run after Lucius with a killing curse, Sasha looked up with a quick grin, reassuring himself that Voldemort knew he was joking.

Whether he had known before or not, was not entirely clear, but after Sasha's display, Voldemort scoffed. "Lucius Malfoy would _not _take anyone on a desk; it would be an insult to his sensibilities."

Sasha chuckled and straightened up once more, resigned to the fact that he was not getting his work done. "He knows I'm not interested, don't worry."

His eyes narrowed. "I do not like my followers lying to me." Voldemort griped.

Nodding in understanding, Sasha said, "Let Lucius have this one thing. It is not often he can best you. It might do him some good to think he is not completely overshadowed by you in every aspect of life."

Voldemort seemed pleased by the statement but kept a hold of his anger. "He tried to steal what is mine."

Oh yes, Voldemort would have a problem with that, wouldn't he? Sasha had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and sigh.

"He believes you will tire of me. He is waiting until you throw me away so that he can pick up your trash, not take from your possessions. Lucius only wants what you no longer own; he isn't foolish enough to desire anything but that."

A thoughtful look appeared on Voldemort's face. "And what would you do if I did tire of you? Would you take his offer?"

Sasha had once brought up the phrase "curiosity killed the cat" with Voldemort. The Dark Lord assured him that he would never follow such a filthy muggle saying. He was standing true to his word now.

"Unlikely." Sasha replied, knowing Voldemort's little tests for what they were, "I never needed anyone before I followed you, I can just as easily go back to that. In fact, I would prefer it to being treated as Lucius' pampered pet—even if he has promised silk sheets." He added, finding humour in Lucius' pledges.

Voldemort nodded, taking a hold of Sasha's chin. "It is just as well then, because Lucius' great-grandchildren will still be waiting for you to become available on their death beds."

The comment surprised Sasha. He blinked. It was uncommonly tender—even if it was wrapped in with all Voldemort's possessive issues. Of course, Sasha knew that Voldemort had no intentions of getting rid of him; what with the bond making it almost impossible. It was still nice to hear though.

"What do you think?" Voldemort asked suddenly, letting his hand fall from Sasha's face and taking half a step back.

"On what?"

Pointing to Sasha's vain attempt at getting through his work, Voldemort elaborated. "That." He said.

Sasha sighed, turning to face it. "I didn't get to look through it all as much as I would have liked." He admitted, "From what I can see though, we have a few options."

"Ah, go on."

"Like you said; infiltration or full on attack. Brutal, or sly. Quiet or loud. Either choice has good points and bad."

Voldemort hummed, "But which do you think is the best route to take?"

Sasha knew Voldemort had probably already chosen and planned everything. His assigning Sasha to this job was more of a test than an actual necessity. Sasha wished he could awe the man, but he knew he probably couldn't. He was the Dark Lord's protégé true enough, but Sasha had never been a strategist. What he was doing was more guessing on what Voldemort would do as opposed to what he thought the best option was. His faith in his master meant that they happened to be the same thing, but it was not through Sasha's own merit that he achieved it.

"The ministry has defences for both direct assault and infiltration. Either way, this won't be bloodless."

"Go on."

"A full on attack would be messy. A lot of death—on both sides—and it would take an awful long time to capture any ground. I don't know how well our forces would stand against the ministry's defences _and_ Dumbledore's order."

"What of infiltration then?"

Shaking his head, Sasha asked, "Can we afford the time needed to sneak in?"

Voldemort was quiet, so Sasha continued.

"If we could; if we had enough ward breakers and our veiling spells were strong enough then it would probably be the best course of action. Only thing is though; I don't think we _could_ crack the security before we're found. They have people whose job it is to monitor the walls; if we took too long, they'd find out."

"You are forgetting about Lucius." Voldemort said.

Sasha frowned, "Lucius?" He mused, "An inside man? Yeah, that'd work; he could take a group in and then together they could disable the defences from the inside out... But then the ministry would know he's a Death Eather."

"By which point, it wouldn't matter; the ministry will be ours."

"But what if it isn't? What if something goes wrong and we're forced to retreat? Should we really reveal our cards so early in the game?"

Voldemort clicked his tongue. "Nothing will go wrong. We cannot lose."

Still, Sasha shook his head. "But what if it does?"

"You worry too much."

"No," Sasha said, "even if it's unlikely, shouldn't we leave Lucius out of it until we at least know for certain that the ministry is under our control? What if it _does_ go wrong and we have to try again at a later time? Then Lucius can be our ticket inside."

"And what," Voldemort drawled, "Would you suggest in place of Lucius then?"

Sasha was going to say that he didn't know. But suddenly, he did.

"You'll still have an inside man. Just in a different sense. Me. I'll go."

Voldemort paused, frowning. Then, he seemed to understand what Sasha meant. "Ah, because you do not need to apparate." Voldemort guessed correctly. "Indeed, there are perks to forgoing humanity."

Sasha agreed. "I'll take out the defences and dispel the anti-apparatition wards for as much time as it takes to get our people in. Then I'll re-activate them so no one else escapes."

Voldemort rubbed his chin and turned to stare at the fire thoughtfully. He was quiet for a long time and Sasha waited patiently for him to finish. Voldemort was thinking, going through the possibilities, the limitations and everything else.

"It will be dangerous." Voldemort said eventually.

Sasha nodded. "I know."

"You will be there alone. Without aid. Until you deactivate those wards, there is nothing anyone can do for you."

"I won't get caught and I won't fail you."

Voldemort turned back to Sasha. "It is a heavy burden to carry; out entire plan will rely on you and your success."

A smile ghosted Sasha lips. "I could do it with my eyes closed."

Voldemort looked down at the blueprints of the ministry building. "I imagine you could. I must say; I had quite the elaborate plan worked out in my head. I had not taken into consider your newfound abilities. This does make things...simpler. I should expect to gain possession of the ministry without too much fuss now."

"As long as Dumbledore doesn't show." Sasha joked.

Red eyes glinted dangerously for a split second. "I do hope he does. This whole affair would be most disinteresting if he doesn't."

"Besides," Sasha added, "You would love to get your picture in the Daily Prophet standing over a defeated Dumbledore."

Voldemort entertained the notion for a few brief moments, smirking to himself. He then shook himself out of it and began walking to the door. He said, "Get to bed; I need you well rested for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Sasha choked. "It's happening _tomorrow_?"

Voldemort had already left the room and was not there to respond. Sasha sighed and checked the clock on the wall. It was late. The raid would not happen until late the next night, but there would be work well before that. If Sasha didn't go to bed now, he wasn't getting there.

Why wouldn't it be tomorrow, after all? There was no point hanging around for no reason. Voldemort had been planning this for a long time; it was Sasha who had delayed the advancement. Just because he hadn't know about it didn't mean everyone else didn't.

Tomorrow was as good a day as any to start a new war.

...

* * *

><p><em>So next chapter will be full of action. I'll have it up as soon as I can.<em>

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed and thanks to fede and Sask._

_Also in response to fede;yes, Lily will be back in the fray soon enough. I think within the next three chapters or so._


	25. Chapter 24

_I've tried a bit of a different style in this chapter, hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed!_

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Chapter 24_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Energy shot passed his ear and hit the wall behind him.

Sasha jerked and retreated behind a corner. "Damn..." He muttered as he raised his wand in front of him, listening to the sounds around the bend.

"Throw down your wand and come out with your hands up. This doesn't have to end bloody." The Auror said loudly. "We've got you surrounded, there's no way out."

Sasha shook his head. He couldn't give up. He couldn't fail. He would fight—to the death if needs be.

There was a voice in his head, whispering words of encouragement.

Counting to three, Sasha readied himself, gripping his wand tighter. He shifted his weight. Stood on the balls of his feet. Poised.

He kicked off the ground and spun to face the Aurors, a string of dark curses shooting from his wand.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_(One hour earlier)_

_..._

"Are you ready, My Lord?"

Voldemort smirked and looked over at Sasha, his red eyes full of excitement and bloodlust. "More than you know. Nervous?"

"Nervous? For this? I'll be there and back before you know it." Sasha replied as he pat his pocket, unconsciously checking that his wand was present.

Voldemort moved closer. "Then fly," he said, "my forces are awaiting your success."

Standing there in Voldemort's office, the fire roaring and the clock above the mantle ticking, Sasha saw his last moments of peace.

"I won't let you down." He promised his master before disappearing soundlessly.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_(Forty minutes earlier)_

_..._

Lucius had supplied the blueprints of the ministry and some advice; don't go straight into the security hub. There were always people present and Sasha could just be unlucky and instead of surprising them, he might find a wand to the back of his head.

Where would he be then?

Lucius didn't know Sasha wasn't human; he didn't know Sasha had an alternative to apparition. But he did know Sasha had some means of entry. He recommended Sasha enter through an abandoned storage room on level four. It was a whole level above where he needed to be, but once Sasha thread carefully, it would take no time at all.

Sasha kicked a broken broom out of the way and sneezed as a puff of dust erupted from the bristled end. He manoeuvred his way around a large, shaking cabinet and stepped over boxes marked 'spare magical threads' and 'Auror uniforms—to be repaired' and 'misc.'. Finally, after clambering through an unnecessary amount of storage, Sasha stood in front of the door. He put his ear to it, listening for any outside movement. As Lucius had suggested, there was nothing. No passage through the corridor. That is what Sasha had hoped for.

He pushed the door forward and, satisfied there was no one there, he stepped outside, eyes scanning left and right. Nature was quiet with Voldemort around, but now he was alone and she had returned. A familiar presence in his head. She murmured to him with words that were nonsensical but comforting nonetheless.

Sasha ran the memorised blueprints through his mind and followed them. Turn left. Walk down the corridor—two hundred metres. Take the first left.

Someone was approaching, Nature alerted him. Sasha found a darkened corner and hid. The ministry worker, busy with studying documents and muttering to himself, failed to notice Sasha's presence.

When the man left, Sasha moved again. He continued. Travel down the corridor. Turn right. Continue. Walk through the door, down the stairs. Nearly there. Sasha looked around, warily now. It was a busier part of the ministry. Not by much. But it would only take one person to spot him.

There was an almost constant stream of people travelling into the security centre and out of it. Even still, the rest of the level was quiet. Sasha moved. Stealthily, he travelled through the area, once or twice hiding behind a corner or in an empty room.

That was where he was now.

"Scrimgeour's got me workin' double shifts fer the next week." A man said outside the door that Sasha was waiting behind.

"For a whole week?" The man's companion asked, "This whole place is going crazy. It's like they're expecting some kind of..." The voice faded away as the two passed the door and out of earshot.

Sasha opened the door and slipped out into the corridor once more. He moved quickly and turned a corner. The last corner. There, right in front of him, was his goal. The security hub. In that room was the centre of the ministry's defences. Feet moving fast, Sasha arrived at the door and, throwing his senses out into the room found four people inside.

He took a steadying breath.

And shoved the door open.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_(Ten minutes earlier)_

_..._

"Okay." Sasha muttered to himself, "Okay, okay, okay."

He was trying to figure out how to come around the defences in the ministry. Stepping over the unconscious body for the umpteenth time since he started pacing, Sasha was beginning to understand what he needed to do.

Aware that he couldn't afford to waste time, Sasha turned to his project.

In the centre of the room, a golden sphere. A ball of energy and magic spun around itself, hovering in mid-air. Sasha looked at it critically before stepping closer, raising his wand and muttering an identifying spell.

Nature spoke again, softly, intrigued. Sasha did not understand her and so he ignored her.

On the golden sphere, in response to his spell, a thin string of magic rose and uncurled. Muttering another spell, this time on his hand, Sasha grabbed the string and felt its power in his hand. The anti-apparition wards slowly faded as Sasha clenched his fist and blocked the flow of magic. He felt the strain of the wards trying to right themselves, the defences desperately trying to weave in different directions to displace the obstruction, but Sasha's grasp held strong.

Thirty seconds of withholding the wards.

Forty. Fifty. Eighty. A hundred seconds.

It needed two minutes. Voldemort needed only two minutes to get all the troops inside.

A hundred and ten... A hundred and twenty.

Sasha let go and physically felt the defences sigh with relief. He wasn't finished yet though; he found another string. This time it shone with magic often associated with charms against dark magic. He didn't bother with subtlety this time; he ripped the thread apart. Effectively rendering the charm useless, beyond repair.

His job done, Sasha was supposed to return to Voldemort. He was eager to do so. The battle should be beginning; that would be where the action was. Sasha left the room. He travelled down the corridor.

Nature started to speak again. This time it was louder, more urgent, warning. Sasha still couldn't not decipher her words, but he understood the meaning. Unfortunately, it came too late. He turned the corner. Energy shot passed his ear and hit the wall behind him.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_(Present)_

_..._

Sasha's curse hit an Auror. The sound of screaming was gratifying but he didn't have time to enjoy it. He skipped back to dodge a spell fired at his legs. A retaliation was already on his lips as he threw a hex in the general direction of the Auror who had almost hit him.

A spell flew straight for his centre, Sasha hastily through up a shield spell and heard the attack ricochet and hit the wall beside him. The wall sizzled and looked burnt and melting when he glanced over at it.

Nature was once again in his ear. This time she was exciting, invigorated, full of joy and strangely, pride. She seemed so present. Sasha almost thought he would actually find her physically there if he turned around. He wouldn't turn though. Not now.

He had a battle to win. And Nature delighted in that.

She seemed to take a little bit of his consciousness, almost like she was holding his arm and helping him shoot curses and spells. His speed was quicker, his reflexes sharper. Nature stood beside him, promising she would help. She took joy in this battle and Sasha felt that joy reflected onto himself. Despite the situation and the odds against him, he gave a breathless laugh.

Nothing could touch him. He weaved his wand around in complex movements he instinctively knew, but were too fast and near together for his brain to fully understand. The forces before him fell to the ground. But more came. He continued fighting. But more came. It shouldn't be this busy. He had to end this. Now. Nature had her fun, he had allowed her influence. It was his turn now.

"_Confringo_!" Sasha shouted in response aiming at the centre Auror. It hit. The blast hit all around the target too and the people around him fell to the ground. In the confusion, Sasha took his chance. He dropped to his knees and pointed his wand up at the ceiling.

"_Petra Cumulus_!" He snarled.

The Aurors hesitated, unsure as to what he had actually done. When nothing seemed to happen, they scoffed and moved to start attacking again. But by then it was already too late. Sasha's spell was activated by movement and these narrow corridors were the perfect environment.

The ceiling rumbled and groaned for a brief second. The Aurors looked upwards, then shouted and screamed when the wall rapidly shot down and crushed every single one of them with the rapid accumulation of stone.

Blood seeped out from under the stone barrier that Sasha's spell had created. Sasha got to his feet and stepped back a little to escape the incoming streams of red. Nature was silent, but Sasha felt her glee, her appreciation, her relief.

Sasha didn't understand the range of Nature's emotionality. He didn't understand why she would feel excitement in a battle or pride that he was in it. No one seemed to be able to answer his questions on it either. No Shira were affected by Balance in such a manner and his great-grandmother's books were so vast that he could search forever and miss it.

It wasn't important, in any case; he had to get to Voldemort.

The stone before him slowly faded away until all that was left was the bloody mush of the Auror's remains. Sasha grimaced. It was a messy spell, but effective in a pinch. He picked his way through the bits of people, wincing while he did. The Petra Cumulus spell was a brilliant idea in theory; its range was large, it worked almost immediately and there was no way to stop it. But it couldn't be used when he was anywhere near his allies in case they too were caught in the spell. As long as you didn't move, the spell was rendered useless, but someone always moved.

Sasha had to move quickly; the smell was sickening.

He was never using that spell again. It had seemed like such a good idea when he made it, but the reality of it was disgusting.

He made his way through the mess and looked back at what he had left. It was longer and larger than he would have imagined; how many Aurors had been there, waiting to fight? There shouldn't have been that many, not at all. So why was there?

Sasha started moving.

It was suspicious. Did they know he was coming? How could they? Lucius had given him the blueprints, he had told him that level four and three were almost abandoned. Sasha had gotten in and out almost without meeting anyone. That was strange, wasn't it?

The Aurors had been waiting for him to come out.

Sasha stopped.

It had been a trap.

They knew he was coming. Which meant they knew Voldemort was coming. Had Lucius betrayed them? No, that wasn't right. There was no benefit to Lucius to betray them. But someone must have, right? How else could they have known?

Sasha shook his head. He didn't need to be worrying about that now; Voldemort would figure it out. Sasha needed to be a warrior now, not a thinker. They'd figure it out later. Not now.

Sasha moved into a jog, leaving the third level and travelling up.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Voldemort surveyed the atrium in frustration. Full of warring wizards. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to catch the ministry off-guard. It was supposed to be easy and unchallenged. His immediate instinct was to blame Lucius but the man couldn't have known. Lucius was loyal, it wasn't betrayal either. How had they known he would be there?

Moving his arm lazily, Voldemort blocked a spell. He threw his own curse in retaliation. His opponent fell with a cry.

Looking around the atrium, he spotted Bellatrix, cackling maniacally as she cast a Crucio on her victim. She was in her element, enjoying the power of the Dark that she was so gifted with.

Lucius was a little to her left. He was battling with an Auror quietly, grunting occasionally with the force of the spells he was sending. Face hidden behind the Death Eater's mask, Lucius' expression was unseen.

Fenrir Greyback and his dogs were up ahead, growling and howling like the mutts they were, ripping to shreds the delicate flesh of their opponents. Even barbaric as it was, Voldemort could not help but feel a slight appreciation of the power and the efficiency at which they killed.

He moved through the atrium, killing as he went, his cloak brushing over the many bodies that littered the floor around him. He had hoped to have fewer casualties on both sides. He had intended to capture the majority of them but that appeared unlikely to happen. Even his Death Eaters were no longer in the mood for playing nice. Voldemort hoped Sasha remembered he wasn't supposed to be killing everyone he came across, there had to be someone that would remember. Voldemort himself, was guilty of that crime.

He wondered if Sasha was alright. There had clearly been an ambush here but was there where Sasha was? Voldemort suspected there might have been. Sasha had better not have gotten caught—or worse; got himself killed. Voldemort wouldn't stand for it.

The Dark Lord turned to survey the damage once more. He needed to stop killing people in frustration and get his plans back on track. Sasha had made a spell especially for this night; it would be a shame not to use it.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"_Depulso Magna!"_ Sasha shouted.

Everyone in the room vanished. Sasha sighed in relief. There had been three Unspeakables in the room and now there was none. It had worked fine.

He was in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort was still a few levels above but Sasha decided to clear out the bottom levels before returning. He could be more use down there instead of in the middle of everything where all the others were. There was still quite a few Aurors and workers hanging around down this far. It wouldn't do to have them sneak up on the Dark's forces when no one was looking.

Voldemort had wanted as many prisoners as possible. The Depulso Magna was how Sasha would achieve that. It was a variation of the Depuslo spell which banished objects or people to a pre-arranged place. This time, it was Azkaban; the Dark's last conquest. The prisoners would be sent straight to their cells on the isolated prison island. There, dementors, loyal to Voldemort, would be waiting to guard them.

The Depulso Magna was just a larger version of the spell. Instead of sending a single person or item away, it could send three or four—depending on the sizes and volume. Unspeakables were handy to have alive, in any case.

Sasha gave the room one last look, making sure there was no one hiding. Nature assured him that there wasn't but he wasn't quite ready to trust her just yet. He left the room and moved on.

He travelled quietly, staying alert for any signs of life. He turned a corner and opened the first door on his left.

More than a dozen heads turned to see who had entered. Sasha quickly glanced around the room; it was a laboratory, full of Unspeakables. Thinking fast, Sasha raised his wand.

"_Depulso Magna!_" He cried out at the Unspeakables, watching as white spheres appeared around the four nearest cloaked figures. They began to scream in terror but by the time they had managed to open their mouths, they suddenly vanished.

The others shouted, getting to their feet and throwing curses over at Sasha mercilessly. Sasha dived out of the doorway, his back plastered to the corridor wall as four or five different spells shot through the entrance and hit the wall across from him.

Erecting the strongest shield he could think of, Sasha spun back around into sight, facing his opponents once more. "_Depulso Magna"_ He said again, pointing in the direction of more Unspeakables. They, like their friends, disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Sprinting into the room, Sasha dodged more oncoming spells and, using worktops as his shields he flung his spell of choice twice more until all of the Unspeakables were gone. Standing in the empty room, Sasha ran a hand through his hair as he puffed out a breath.

Time to move on.

He left the room in search of more opponents.

Voldemort wanted to lead these people once the war was over. He didn't want them all dead. That, Sasha supposed, was the main reason why the Dark Lord ordered as few deaths as possible. The mercy Sasha was showing to the Unspeakables should have been given to the Aurors too, but with Nature influencing him so strangely back on level three, Sasha hadn't thought to do so. It wouldn't happen again. If he could at all, he would only send his opponents to Azkaban from now on.

Voldemort would later allow the prisoners the choice of accepting his rule or rotting within the depths of the mouldy prison, but for now they would be out of the way and alive. That was the reason they had cleared out Azkaban so thoroughly a few months previously; he needed the space. Sasha had to concede that Voldemort was brilliant. Not that he'd tell him though, no, he was smug enough as it was.

He travelled to another room, clearing it out of its inhabitants, and then moved on to another, doing exactly the same thing. He continued down the corridor until he came to one door that, no matter what he tried, stayed locked. Looking around in confusion he spotted the plaque that claimed he was standing outside 'The Love Chamber'.

Scoffing, Sasha figured that Voldemort could figure how to get inside himself later if he was that interested. Sasha, for one, was not. He continued on with his search, fighting off the unfortunate Unspeakables that happened to come across his path. He cleared out the Space Chamber, the Thought Chamber and The Time Chambers.

It was through the Time Chamber that he found the door to the Hall of Prophecies.

Sasha made his way over the black stone bridge cautiously, walking towards the innocent looking blue door on high alert, his footsteps were hollow and loud and echoing around him. He opened it and took the lift down to where the prophecies were stacked high.

It dinged with a strange normalcy as the door opened and Sasha found himself in the midst of endless rows of prophetic spheres. It was quiet here, utterly silent. Not even Nature bothered to sing to him. A rare experience for now, to be so utterly alone in the universe. He shut his eyes, listened to a heart he never realised beat so loud, to his breath that disturbed the air around him, displacing dust spores and stagnant oxygen.

For the first time he knew what it must be like to be insignificant. To be normal, to not have a goddess choose him as her servant. To be bound by the obscurity of Fate. He opened his eyes in realisation that he was half-fearful, half-envious of the feeling.

Shaking his head, Sasha started to walk further into the depths of the Hall of Prophecies. He knew by this point, with the room being so quiet, that no one was here. Still, he continued walking through it, distracted by the intrigue of each prophecy. Sasha couldn't resist the urge to run his fingers over the nearest prophecies as he passed. Each one broke the intense silence and their voices trailed after in his wake, revealing their secrets to no one as he went.

"_And the dark shall pass over the light and all will..."_

"_The power of the fifth moon brings..."_

"_Neither will survive..."_

"_... and bring peace to their people."_

Each prophecy voiced by a different Seer, each warning of some unknown future. Sasha didn't pay any great attention to them, his mind wandering unconsciously.

He mused on the nature of prophecies.

Seers saw prophecies, wizards captured them in the tiny glowing spheres, keeping them forever contained and therefore restrained to that future. Shira had prophecies, they came in the form of the Well of Balance, there was nothing done to keep them because the Shira understood the nature of the future, they understood that it was always liquid and ever changeable in its constant churning. Just because the future was going one way that day didn't mean it would be anything like that the next.

Scions had different prophecies. He saw living prophecies; futures that were not so much possibilities, but those that had the capability and the probability to come about, to become realities, the ideal realities that Nature desired. Like the prophecy of him befriending the Basilisk in Hogwarts. Or that of him finding Fenrir Greyback. These were self-fulfilling prophecies.

He wondered how valuable he would be to the current ministry if they knew that; war criminal that he was or not. Would they capture him and try to utilise that power? Human Seers had one, maybe two significant prophecies in their lifetimes; Sasha had two a penny and he was immortal. From a business perspective, that was a good investment.

Sasha shook his head and continued through the darkened place.

Time is hard to judge in the darkness and Sasha wasn't sure how long he had spent in the Hall of Prophecies, before eventually, he made it to the end. There, built quietly into the wall, was a door. Open and ready for him.

Walking over to it, Sasha saw the drop and, having faith in the ministry to not put something that was a health hazard in, he jumped and fell and landed on his feet gently a few seconds later, having dropped into another room entirely.

This, like the last space, was uninhabited.

It was huge, and reminiscent of an ancient gladiator arena, only it was square and clearly made for another purpose. Rough, uneven stone made up the ground, surreptitiously seeping a deep coldness through his shoes and up his legs. The rock rose unevenly into a huge dais and peaked in the centre of the room where nothing but a giant stone arch stood ominously. A thin, transparent veil fluttered delicately in a non-existent wind between the aged stone pillars.

Sasha had heard about this.

He cautiously approached it, as if he was afraid The Veil might attempt to pull him inside. But it did not. He stood a few feet away. His eyes looked into it and through it, to the other end of the room where occasionally, a spectral image would flicker by his line of sight, arms outstretched and mouths wide, but voices missing. And there was no way to know what they might have shared with him.

He closed his eyes. And Nature was once again with him. Her voice, soft and gentle, yet with traces of cold and sternness, warning him to stay away. It was not his place to consider such things. Things that died were meant to stay dead. This, Nature agreed to when she rallied her siblings and created this world.

_Do not disturb the cycle..._

The sum of Nature's voices whispered to him. Yet she was not angry, there was intrigue there, intense curiosity. Sasha could feel it ghost over him, a trickle of warm air through his spirit. She was studying her latest acquisition up close. Sasha wondered how it hadn't occurred to him before but Nature would of course be more present in a place like this. For did she not utilise Death? And didn't Death become a part of her, as Life was also a component of Nature? She had assimilated their meaning and now she was curious as to _his_ interest in her significance.

The cycle was not meant to be disturbed...

A sudden epiphany rushed through his consciousness and threatened to topple his mind. He understood. Finally, he understood.

Things would die and then, from the life force left behind, something else would be born; a tree, a person, a stone, a blade of grass or hydrogen atom. Energy could not be created or destroyed, wasn't that what the muggles said? If that was true, then everything living was once a part of something else and everything's essence was in some way connected to another's, always existent, circulating in the universe.

No wonder the Shira accepted Death and returned to the Cycle. There was nothing to fear. Immortality came in more than just a body. He understood now. He understood completely. And the world seemed smaller with that comprehension and somehow, more personal, as if to look at his arm he would see elements of another being.

How could he hate his enemies when they were as much a part of him as he was of Nature? Sasha suddenly wondered how he could have lived in such ignorance before.

In his head, Nature laughed delightedly; her servant had gained the necessary understanding. Sasha felt their bond solidify just a tiny bit more.

He turned his attention back to the Veil. He could hear the faint whispers coming from it, but they meant nothing to him. Merely noise. He knew the sway the Veil could hold over people. Death was, after all, always ravenous, and his Veil was as much a servant to him as Sasha was to Nature. Death would not find his next victim in Sasha.

"It is a dangerous thing, to stare too long into the Veil; one can get caught up with very dark thoughts."

Surprised, Sasha turned to the sound of the voice. Albus Dumbledore was in the room now, approaching him with a slow, steady gait, hands clasped behind his back, wand poking out of his pocket.

Sasha didn't take his wand out as he watched the man advance, but he tensed up nonetheless, watching warily. "You knew I'd be here?" He questioned with suspicion. He wasn't sure if Albus Dumbledore was going to be hostile or not, but he would wait and see how things panned out. If there was trouble, Sasha would just get out of there; anti-apparation wards or not, he would get out through his ability to travel cross-dimensionally.

Dumbledore moved up to stand beside Sasha, in front of the Veil. "No," He admitted, "Though I did hope I would find Tom."

Sasha sent his senses out to the room. There was no one else there. Just him and Dumbledore. The man had come alone. Trying to make sense of the situation, Sasha wondered what the old man had come for. Voldemort and he were certainly not on speaking terms. From what Sasha knew, they had never been particularly close—but especially since Dumbledore killed him. That was bound to put a crimp on anyone's relationship.

"Voldemort has no reason to be here," Sasha replied softly, "You have wasted your time."

A subtly critical eye was cast in Sasha's direction. "Tom has long been obsessed with death. Even as a child I could see that fascination festering within him. I tried to stop him, you know, dissuade him from continuing down that dark path." Dumbledore stopped, frowning, the weight of his years resting heavily on him, "But I cannot say that I succeeded. Now I fear he has split his soul too thinly. How many Horcruxes does he have? How far gone has he become?"

"I wouldn't know." Sasha said.

"No, of course not..." He sounded strangely grim, as if he had hoped Sasha might divulge. He seemed to retreat into his head then, gazing at the Veil vacantly. When he spoke again, his eyes stayed on the fluttering shroud. "Many have lost themselves to the Veil. It can pull even the strongest wizard in with its sway, whispering promises, peace, quiet. Tell me, do you hear it?"

Over Nature's quiet murmurings he heard the voices through the veil, their mouthless mutters moaning over at them. "Yes." He said simply.

"I came here in hopes of finding Tom, to talk to him, give him one final chance to repent and end this madness. Instead, I find his young servant. Following in his footsteps." It was said almost mournfully, as if he cared for Sasha, "It is not something I would recommend. The path Tom chose to walk is a soulless one. It will bring nothing but pain, to yourself and those around you. Do you really wish to be like him and hurt innocent people, men, women... children?"

Sasha knew what Dumbledore was talking about; Hogwarts. "I don't regret what I did." He said.

The old headmaster raised a brow. "Oh?" He asked.

Shaking his head, Sasha continued. "I did what was necessary to complete my mission. Without using the Basilisk as a distraction, I would have failed. I could not let that happen. It was about survival. Me or them. I'm not sorry those students are dead." He stopped, frowning deeply as he added in a mutter, "Though I can't claim to be apathetic to their families and friends. It is... unfortunate that they must deal with that loss."

He couldn't quite go as far as to say that he was guilty at having caused such pain; those people were too far removed from him, he had never met them or heard of them. But he understood the pain of loss. He thought briefly about what it would feel like to lose Diana or Voldemort or even his father. His gut wrenched at the prospect.

"You would mourn, not for those who are dead, but those that are alive?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Death," Sasha said, drawing from his newfound wisdom, "Is natural. As natural as the beat of a heart or air rushing through lungs. The ones who died, they've entered something else—I don't know what it is, but it isn't a silence; it's... a reunion. With the world, the universe, the very essence of everything that is real and ethereal, physical and metaphysical. And you're right; there is peace there and solace too.

"But their families?" Sasha shrugged "They can't transcend this world. Pain will follow them for a very long time, a fact that they must wallow in. And I'm very much sorry about that."

For a long time, Dumbledore was quiet. He watched Sasha with an unreadable expression. Sasha's fingers twitched, but he didn't move otherwise. Eyes trained on The Veil, he wondered what Dumbledore might do next.

The headmaster made a huffing sound. It could have been a laugh without humour, or a snort without complete distain. It was impossible to tell.

"Tom Riddle has always surrounded himself with people who were vulnerable, power-hungry, or..." He sought for the best word, "unstable. Even as a child he attracted that sort of person. The only exceptions to that rule are the people who think like him; those who believe his views are correct. You... do not fall into any of those categories. I have long wondered why it is that he keeps you so close."

Unsure as to where Dumbledore was going with this, Sasha's eyes narrowed, "And what did you conclude."

"I always suspected it was somehow Voldemort who let the Basilisk out. I now know it was you. That is why he wants you, isn't it? You are a parselmouth."

A smile touched the edges of Sasha's lips; he rocked his head down to hide it. "I am not a parselmouth—much to Voldemort's dismay, I might add."

"How did you control the Basilisk? Only a parselmouth can control Slytherin's snake."

Sasha grinned softly, "Sometimes Fate has a manner of waylaying those obstacles." He replied, knowing full well that his answer was cryptic and unhelpful, "But you can't expect me to reveal any more than that."

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "It's not too late." He said softly, "You can still turn back. No one would blame you for siding with Voldemort; he can be...threatening or charming. People _are_ drawn to him when he starts to court them. But you don't need to stay there. You aren't like the rest of them, you don't belong there. Come with me; we can keep you safe. You won't have to hurt any more people."

Running a hand through his hair, Sasha shook his head. "I don't hate you." Sasha said, "But I will never side with you or yours. You were right in saying that I am not like the others; I don't wish for power, I'm not crazy and" A breathy laugh, "I certainly don't believe what the others do." He thought of Diana then, of how Voldemort sneered every time Sasha mentioned her or went to her.

"But you would still call Voldemort your master? You would willingly kill those who have nothing to do with our world?" There was an odd note through Dumbledore's voice that Sasha didn't quite understand. Almost desperate but not quite.

Sasha breathed a laugh, taking unexpected amusement from this meeting, "Yes. Because I am not like the others; I do not follow the power or the ideals or the protection. I follow the man. I am loyal to Voldemort. And _that_ is why I will never side with you. Had I not been loyal to him, my presence would absent in this war; we are fated to never be on the same side."

Dumbledore stared at Sasha. "I fear Voldemort is using you, m'boy, he will throw you away when you cease to be useful to him."

He said it so solemnly that Sasha had to laugh. "So I'm told." He said and looked away, spotting a door on the other side of the room. "I will not fight you, Dumbledore; you are not destined to die today—and certainly not by my hand. I've said all I'm willing to and you can't tell me anything I don't already know. If you still wish to approach Voldemort, he'll be up on the upper levels. Good luck."

Sasha did an extremely risky thing; he turned his back on his enemy and made his way to the exit.

"Before you go," Dumbledore's soft words reached him despite the lack of proximity, "Answer me just one question."

Sasha stopped walking and turned around, quirking his head to the side with curiosity. "Go on."

"Why Voldemort? Of all the people you could have given your allegiance to, why him? What could he possibly have done to deserve such unwavering loyalty?"

Smirking, Sasha turned back on his heel. He thought about the day they had met, on the streets of London with him running away from a pick pocketing gone wrong. Before that moment, life had been dull, a succession of brief moments, jumping from one trial of survival to the next. He had kept his head down and stared at his feet until that moment.

Voldemort had awoken something within him. Sasha remembered returning to his den and leaning up against the wall, hands placed over his heart, feeling the resounding 'thump, thump, thump' he had never noticed before then. The blood pumping through his veins, the adrenalin in his system. A tiny part of him awoke that day.

It was the first time he noticed the sky.

"He saved me." He replied as left the Chamber of Death and a confused Albus Dumbledore.


	26. Chapter 25

_Hey guys, this chapter was supposed to be one big, long chapter but it's taking forever to edit so I'm making it into two. Which means-with any luck-the next chapter should be up a bit sooner than usual. Also, there's a little bit of slash in this chapter. It's not much though. Anyway, enjoy!_

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><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 25_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The battle waged on.

Bellatrix lost herself in a delirious sea of blood and gore. Her curse tore through a ministry worker and hit the wall behind him. She stared, transfixed, as the man fell to the floor, writhing and screaming, sloshing around in a pool of his own blood.

A flutter in her stomach rose and became manic giggles and then blissful bellows of laughter. She laughed so hard, she doubled over, hands on her knees for support, tears in her eyes. Then, quite suddenly, she screamed. "Run, run, run, little birdies!" She squealed, "I'm gonna catch you!"

Bellatrix eyed an unsuspecting victim at the other end of the room and tittered, skipping rapidly over to her prey, wand held high and ready. She fired the curse at the back of her latest opponent. The body slumped forward and Bellatrix had moved on, firing at another and then another.

Lucius was fighting not far from her, engaged in a proper duel. Bellatrix grinned broadly and lopped over to the sparring pair. Coming up behind Lucius she waited briefly before her eagerness got the better of her and she fired an Avada Kedavra over her brother-in-law's shoulder, hitting his opponent and stealing his victory.

Lucius angrily spun around, jaw tight. He saw Bellatrix's grin and sighed. "Really, must we do this every time, Bellatrix?" He asked.

Bellatrix laughed, "Play with me." She said.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lucius said, "No. This is not a game. I will not partake in your frivolities."

"Play with me." Bellatrix said, eyeing someone who came to close a firing a casual killing curse over at them. "Come on, play with me."

"Leave. Bellatrix, leave now. This is not the time or the place." Lucius raised his wand when another Death Eater's duel moved near to them. The duo passed by and Lucius lowered his arm slightly.

Bellatrix pouted. "Sasha would play with me." She said.

"Then find _him_. I am not he."

"Where is he?"

Lucius gestured around vaguely. "Somewhere here. By Our Lord's side, no doubt."

"No, he isn't." Bellatrix replied, glancing around.

Stopping, Lucius turned. "He isn't?" He asked, "He should be. He should be here. I heard Our Lord order it personally."

Bellatrix straightened. "He wouldn't disobey. He would never disobey Lord Voldemort. Something's wrong."

Lucius was quiet momentarily. "We won't make any hasty decisions. Sasha is able to take care of himself. We are needed here."

Bellatrix nodded, hesitantly.

"Lucius, Bellatrix, are your orders not holding your attention?" Voldemort appeared behind them.

Both Death Eaters flinched at the sudden appearance. "My Lord," Bellatrix said quickly, bowing, "We were discussing Sasha. He is not here."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "I am aware of this.

"We were worried, my Lord." Lucius said.

"You do not need to be. Sasha will not fall so easily."

Bellatrix bit her lip. "But what if something went wrong? What if he's in danger?"

Voldemort's head suddenly snapped to the side. "Return to your duties." He said distractedly, "There is nothing either of you could do in any case."

The Dark Lord continued to gaze over the crowds, a sly smirk appearing on his lips. He wandered away before Bellatrix or Lucius could reply.

Voldemort headed in a straight line towards the newest arrival onto the battlefield.

As he drew nearer to his target, Voldemort opened his arms, "Dumbledore," He announced, "How good to see you."

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"_He saved me."_

The words of Sasha Kamenev resounded in his head as soon as Voldemort came into view.

"_He saved me."_

How? And why? This man, this wretched, twisted created before him had saved the life of a boy. Why?

"Dumbledore, how good to see you." Voldemort mocked, his red eyes full of malicious interest.

This man was responsible for such loyalty? What could he have done? What could have been so great that a boy like Sasha Kamenev would dedicate his life in repayment?

"Hello, Tom." Dumbledore said slowly, quietly, tiredly.

Voldemort chuckled, "Have you come to see my glorious triumph?"

"No, Tom, I have not."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, "Then, perhaps, you have come to die."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Alas, I have not."

The Dark Lord tapped his wand against his leg, both in agitation and in thought. "Then why, pray tell, have you come?"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore said, "To try one last time to reason with you. To get you to stop this madness. Before it's too late, Tom, please turn back from this soulless path."

Voldemort laughed again. "I am on the brink of glory and you would have me stop? No, you old fool, I will not. I cannot lose now. I cannot fail."

"Please, Tom, I'm begging you. If you continue on this path you will cause the death of many more people. We can stop this suffering. If you do not, I will be forced to retaliate and that will be a regrettable occurrence indeed."

"I welcome it." Voldemort said, "In fact, I don't think I should give you the opportunity."

Voldemort raised his wand and cast the killing curse at Dumbledore.

Quickly, Dumbledore dodged the spell and fired his own in retaliation. Voldemort threw up a shield and sneered. Dumbledore didn't let up, he continued to fire spell after spell, leaving Voldemort on the defence, taking steps backwards with the force of the hits.

"I was going to give you a quick death, old man." Voldemort snarled, "That is no longer an option for you. You'll beg me for death." He threw a curse in Dumbledore's direction.

Dumbledore wordlessly warded against it. He studied Voldemort. "I spoke with your ward." Dumbledore said, watching for a reaction.

Voldemort stiffened. "And why should that concern me?" He asked, throwing another, somewhat stronger curse.

He dodged the curse. "Our encounter was quite...enlightening." Dumbledore continued, ignoring Voldemort's question.

"And _what, _exactly, was enlightening?" Voldemort spit as Dumbledore wordlessly flung a red pulsing hex.

"He is quite unlike your other followers, is he not? I did not sense the same darkness, the same maliciousness."

Dumbledore and Voldemort circled, pointing their wands at each other, taking slow, purposeful steps.

"What of it? He is loyal. He will do whatever I tell him, regardless. I am his master, his lord, his god."

"So I see." Dumbledore said, "But how long will it last? How long will the boy follow a man who is just using him? He knows you will throw him away once you are finished. For how long can you expect him to believe this illusion of divinity you display with such vigour?"

Voldemort scoffed, "Whether he believes it or not is of no concern to me. He will obey me always. He is a servant, _my_ servant, and always will be. Nothing more."

Dumbledore shook his head. "How could you possibly have inspired such devotion? You are no less of a monster than ever you were."

"_He saved me."_

Voldemort chuckled, "Get them young enough and you'd be amazed what can be achieved."

Wincing, Dumbledore tried not to think about the implications.

"_He saved me."_

"So you had him think you were a saviour, you appeared as a messiah and distorted his mind into what you desired," Dumbledore reasoned, "You twisted his reality so much that he could no longer tell up from down. You took all that was good about him and warped it into that delusional loyalty he gives you."

"Guilty as charged." Voldemort said, smirking. "You seem surprised."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not surprised, no. Just saddened."

"Let me help to relieve that sorrow." Voldemort said, raising his wand and wordlessly casting the blasting spell in Dumbledore's direction.

The headmaster grunted and hastily threw up a ward, frowning with the strain. "Tell me," Dumbledore's voice was heard over the sound of the spell diffusing on the ward, "What will you do when he realises what you have done. What will Sasha Kamenev do once your charisma wears off and he sees you for the soulless coward you are? What then, Tom? I may not know him as you do, but I know he is not a fool, he will soon realise what waits for him should he follow you blindly. Do you honestly think he will stand for it? Do you think he will take it lying down? I imagine, Tom, that he will not. I foresee a will to survive. What do you think would happen if I should offer my assistance?"

Voldemort didn't answer. Instead, he roared and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!"_

Dumbledore jumped back and stumbled barely righting himself quick enough to shield against Voldemort's evisceration curse, followed by a blasting curse, a decapitating curse, a withering curse and finally an imploding curse. Teeth bared, chest heaving, Voldemort approached. Dumbledore stepped backwards, wand raised high, every muscle taut and ready.

"You have lived for too long, old man." Voldemort hissed, gliding forwards like a snake.

Dumbledore looked around. The fighting in the atrium had stopped. Amid the mounds of dead bodies and bloody floors, Death Eaters were slowly turning and approaching. The threat of Voldemort suddenly multiplied by ten as his followers turned their attention to the last opponent on the battlefield; Albus Dumbledore.

He couldn't win now. Dumbledore knew that. This fight was destined to end another day.

Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out a portkey in the shape of a small globe.

Voldemort eyed the item and, upon recognising it, straightened looking both gleeful and deadly. In the moments it took Dumbledore to activate the portkey, Voldemort gave him one final, chilling message.

"Remember this day, Dumbledore," Voldemort said quietly, "Remember this as the day you signed your death warrant."

Dumbledore was carried away by the portkey.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The battle had continued. Dodging and ducking, casting magic and creating havoc, Sasha had continued on with the fighting as soon as he had made his way to the upper floors.

The fight had been fierce and Sasha had to admit that he had not made it out completely unharmed. The Aurors had put up a valiant attempt at keeping control over the ministry and Sasha couldn't deny their tenacity. Even in a situation as hopeless as this, they had stood their ground to the bitter end. It unfortunately meant that more of them had died than perhaps they would have liked, but such was war. The Aurors knew the dangers when they joined.

Sasha had turned from his last battle, surveying both the bodies and the lack of them with satisfaction. He figured that most of the ministry members were out of the way now.

It had been time to move on then.

The fight was almost over. Jogging through the abandoned corridors, Sasha travelled to where he expected Voldemort and the other Death Eaters to be. Soon, he found a few familiar faces.

"Lucius." Sasha said, successfully catching the man's, and the three other Death Eaters that were with him.

"Ah, the young warrior returns." Lucius said, turning and smiling.

Sasha frowned, disliking the term that Lucius had coined. It was one of many similar names that had cropped up since Sasha's identity had been revealed. It was one of the better ones. That didn't mean that he was going to accept it though; as soon as this was over, he would deal with the problem.

"Has everything been dealt with?"

Lucius nodded, "Of course."

"Everyone is dead, or gone?" Sasha questioned further.

"You would doubt me?" Lucius asked as if he was hurt by Sasha's distrust.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Sasha replied, "Just doing my job, Lucius." He said. "Have the ward builders changed the wards yet?"

"Not yet."

"Make sure that they do."

Giving an indulgent bow, Lucius agreed wholeheartedly. "Of course, my Lord."

Lucius' tone was almost condescending. Sasha felt it could become a problem. He would leave it for now, but he realised more than anything that he would have to re-establish his position among these people soon.

Before they knew his face, he had been a strange, mysterious, dangerous character. Now, they barely worried about him. Oh, they wouldn't disrespect him to his face—not yet—and the worst of it probably came from Lucius himself, but there was always the threat of a rising against him.

It wouldn't take much to spark off such troubles and Sasha wouldn't allow himself to stand by Voldemort if he didn't sort this out himself—and soon.

"Where is our Lord?" Sasha asked.

Lucius hid a smirk behind his hand, "He is in the minister's office."

"Okay then. Gather the forces; wait in the atrium for Voldemort to return."

Sasha nodded to Lucius and the others and turned on his heel, leaving them.

When he arrived outside the office, Sasha spotted Bellatrix, standing on guard in front of the door.

Bellatrix spotted him and straightened. She looked relieved. "You're alright." She said.

"Of course." Sasha said, frowning in confusion, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Bellatrix smiled and shook her head. "Never mind." She said, seeming almost sane. The image turned when her smile slid into a grin. "Enjoy yourself?" She whispered in a half-manic cackle. Blood had splattered on her dress and chest, creating a macabre image out of her. Coupled with the wild hair and the crazed eyes, Sasha thought she looked every bit as crazy as he had ever seen.

"Marginally," Sasha replied, eyes to the door that she was preventing him getting to, "Not as much of a challenge as I would have liked. You seemed to have had a good time though."

Bellatrix beamed. "I made my own entertainment." She gave a delighted, hushed squeal. "It's not what you kill; it's how you kill it." She advised him with a sage nod of her head.

Sasha shook his head with a smile. Even when she was being crazy, Bellatrix had the ability to crack him up. She was his favourite Death Eater; the easiest to be around, the most loyal, the simplest to understand—and she didn't partake in the same annoying behaviour as the others. She didn't make the mistake of underestimating Sasha and his abilities.

Lucius shouldn't have either, frankly, but then, he had his sights set on converting Sasha into some sort of mewling kitten to furnish his bed. Lucius had other objectives and his actions were in a direct correlation to those goals. Sasha really shouldn't have been surprised. Though he did wonder what Lucius thought he was doing, employing those motions as he had.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Sasha said, "But I wonder; in all your fun, did you remember to leave some of them alive?"

Bellatrix gave a melodramatic sigh and roll of her eyes as she pushed herself off of the absent secretary's desk and sauntered over to the other side of the room. "Regrettably," She said as she passed Sasha by, "I did."

Sasha had never taken any joy in torture; killing was a means to an end for him. Whether it was survival or striving towards something, he only committed murder if there was a reason. He didn't find the same poetic beauty in it that Voldemort claimed to see, or get the exciting rush that Bellatrix often sighed over. It didn't stop him liking them however and Sasha occasionally became interested in their retelling of past glories. He couldn't deny that he had an interest in reliving such a thing from their views. There was an odd sort of novelty to it.

"Is he alone?" Sasha asked, motioning to the door with a nod of his head.

A darkly amused smile spread slyly across her lips as she gave the barest hint of a shake of her head.

"Who?"

She tutted. "Who would you expect to find in the minister's office?" She asked as she moved again, crossing the room once more with a flick of her hair and a pronounced sashay of her hips.

Sasha looked at the door again. The Minister for Magic was inside.

A few months ago, the people had cried out for a new election. They wanted a fresh face, a different minister. The favourite to take over was Rufus Scrimgeour. Sasha didn't know much about the man—or at least, not much more than anyone else did; he was old, he looked vicious, and he was adamant about bringing Voldemort and his followers to justice—'swift and devastating', Sasha believed was the term he used.

By all rights, Rufus Scrimgeour should have been the man in that room with Voldemort. However, that was not the case. Cornelius Fudge had been a man long in charge of the ministry. He, deep down, probably, was a good man who had the country's best interest in mind.

Interestingly enough, though, he had not wanted to step down from his position and relinquish his power. He, like many politicians before him, had shivered at the thought of leaving office. And so he put off the elections for as long as possible, arranged for things to go wrong; emergencies to happen and people to come forward and speak out against Scrimgeour. The result was a poor attempt to hide his desire to stay in office. Despite the grumblings of the public, it worked well enough. Minister Fudge was still firmly placed in the prime minister's office—literally.

He probably wished he wasn't though.

Sasha decided to take a look and see what it was the Voldemort was doing to the poor man. He hadn't received any orders _not_ to go in, so he would assume it was safe to enter. Bellatrix was surely watching him as he moved forward and reached for the door handle, twisting in and pushing the door open, stepping into the room.

As he entered, Voldemort looked up. He seemed pleased that Sasha had entered. "I take it," Voldemort announced, "That your presence here means you have done your job."

The minister was on his knees in the middle of the room, looking between Sasha and Voldemort with eyes full of terror and a desperate pleading. His hands were clasped in front of his chest. Voldemort was unmoved, however, by Fudge's attempts at begging for mercy. In fact, he seemed to be revelling in the fact that he towered over the old man, even leaning slightly against the desk as he was.

"Naturally." Sasha replied, "Just finishing up now. Your loyal servants will be waiting for their master to address them in the atrium as soon as you're ready."

Voldemort looked pleased. "And what do you think of my new office?"

Ignoring Fudge's panicked whimper, Sasha made a display of looking around. "It's not bad; has a lot of potential..." He paused, looking to Fudge, "A few greasy prints from greedy little fingers that need to be cleared out, but I have faith in your ability to purge them." He finished, switching his attention back to Voldemort.

Voldemort smirked, "How do you like my young ward, Cornelius? Is he not perfect?"

Confused by the apparently random question, Cornelius barely spared a glance to Sasha. "Yes, yes," He said quickly, "Please, just—"

He was cut off by Voldemort's evil laugh.

"He doesn't know how to play the game." Sasha remarked.

Voldemort agreed, "No, he certainly does not. Tell me, Cornelius, how is it that you managed to stay in power for so long without understanding when something is required of you?"

It wasn't a question that Fudge felt he could answer with any success. He stared helplessly at Voldemort and when he wasn't given any encouragement, he desperately switched his attention to Sasha. Unfortunately, Sasha didn't give him anything either.

"I-I-but I—well yes, but—"

They let the man stutter for a few more moments before Voldemort stopped him with a tisk. "You understand, Cornelius," He said with a vague twirling motion of his hand, "That I asked you a question; a question that I would very much like the answer to. Now, answer it before I grow bored of your presence. What do you think of Sasha here?"

Cornelius Fudge blanched before turning towards Sasha. Still on his knees, the minister looked like a poor sight. He, however, seemed in control enough of himself to study Sasha, or at least make a show of it while he considered the best answer.

"He is very young." Cornelius said hesitantly.

Voldemort laughed again, finding great humour in the whole dynamic. "Is that all you can say about my right hand, hmm? This is the person who fooled Dumbledore, who set free Slytherin's Basilisk and killed twelve innocent children. The same person who ensured Fenrir Greyback's loyalty to me _and_ let's not forget that he ripped through your defences in a mere few hours. Now, tell me Cornelius; what do you think of him?"

Wide-eyed and terrified, the prime minister looked at Sasha with a new perspective. Sasha knew the look. He knew what the man wanted to say; he was a monster. But would that man say that? Did he think that was what Voldemort wanted to hear that or would he find some other way to describe him.

Cornelius shook his head, "He is... He looks like he is capable of those things."

"And more." Voldemort assured him sternly. He took a turn about the room then, further highlighting the minister's vulnerability by have him look over his shoulder and twist around. When Voldemort spoke again, despite his eyes gleaming maliciously, his voice was airy, "I'm not going to kill you, Cornelius; I'm going to send you to Azkaban where you will experience the fate you have condemned many of my loyal followers to."

Cornelius started to whimper, half with relief, half with horror.

Voldemort continued, "But your survival is conditional—as is that of your lovely wife and family. In order for you to stay living, you are going to work for me."

"Anything, anything," Cornelius promised quickly, "Please, just don't hurt my family."

Sasha would have frowned if Voldemort hadn't wanted him to look threatening. He felt a little bad for the old man. Not bad enough to stop his master, but still, it niggled with him a little.

"It is good that you are willing, because I to need you to be vigilant in your work. You are going to tell your people about my ward. The name Sasha Kamenev will pass your lips each and every day. Tell your Aurors, your cell mates, about my right hand. Make sure they know _who_ killed their children in Hogwarts, who tortured innocents and seduced monsters, who broke through your defences and defeated them with ease.

"I want them cowed, shaking in fear when he and I step into Azkaban next time. And I want you to remember his face and know that it will be the last thing you see if you fail me; because I will have him torture you and your family beyond sanity should you fail me. Is that clear?"

Nodding fiercely, Cornelius promised Voldemort again and again that he would do as he asked. "Just don't hurt my family."

If Voldemort hadn't been such a good actor, he would have looked horribly smug. Sasha could see that the man was in his element; it was little things like this that he lived for.

"Well, Sasha," Voldemort said, "Are you convinced that he is willing?"

"It never hurts to add a little incentive." He replied with a shrug, stepping closer to Voldemort so as poor Cornelius Fudge had to deal with a united front against his person.

Staring down hard at the old man Voldemort asked, "And what do you suggest."

In a rapid motion, Sasha flicked out his wand. "_Poena_."

The prime minister screamed and flopped onto his back, twitching and seizing as if having a fit. Sasha kept him under it for a few moments before releasing the man. Fudge made no attempt to get up. Sasha treaded over to him and hunkered down, grabbing the minister's thin web-like hair and yanking his head up.

Making sure there was sufficient eye-contact, Sasha moved his face in close, sneering darkly. "This is me being nice," He threatened, "I have _plenty_ of spells that are much more entertaining and inventive—and it would certainly _please_ me to try them out. You had better hope for yours and your family's sake that you please Voldemort and not me, because I am not someone you would want to rely on for your well being. Remember this moment, because if you see me again, I will not be acting quite so civilised."

Throwing the minister's head down, Sasha straightened and returned to his master's side. "Do not fail me, Cornelius." Voldemort said as he took out his own wand and muttered, "_Depulso_."

Cornelius Fudge vanished, leaving an empty space on the carpeted floor.

Sasha glanced over at his master. He caught a look on the man's face. "What?" He asked.

Voldemort shook his head, "Nothing, only... bravo." He said eventually, breaking the quiet in the room.

The look Sasha caught didn't correlate with the words. The expression was not that of being impressed, proud or even pleased. It was thoughtful, calculating—and not necessarily in a positive way.

Sasha shrugged and let the thought go. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

"It needed to be done." He replied. "Fudge won't dare defy you if he thinks you'll torture his family."

"You mean if he thinks _you'll_ torture his family." Voldemort corrected, turning into Sasha and taking hold of his chin.

Guided by the hand on his face, Sasha also turned in. "It amounts to the same thing," He said, "I am but an extension of you."

That pleased Voldemort. He hissed softly before dipping his head forwards and taking Sasha's lips. It was soft enough at first, but quickly grew in intensity till the hands on Sasha's face were clutching his jaw as opposed to holding. Biting at his lips, Voldemort gained entrance to Sasha's mouth, deepening the kiss.

Suddenly, Sasha was forced to turn and slammed against the desk, his body in an awkward position of half suppination as Voldemort rested his weight on him. His Lord's long fingers moved from Sasha's jaw and tangled in his hair. Feeling restricted, Sasha realised he could barely move under his master. Even his arms were half pinned down.

Breaking the kiss, Voldemort murmured, "Lucius may have qualms about taking you over a desk but I assure you I do not."

Voldemort's hands went wandering quickly in a half-hearted attempt at foreplay before he veered towards the button on Sasha's trousers and pulled them open. Sasha growled thickly at the sudden promise at intimacy and manoeuvred his arms up and to Voldemort's face, half rising, half pushing down so they met in another violent locking of lips.

"I'm glad breaking in my new office will be my first duty as prime minister." Voldemort joked as he shimmied Sasha's trousers off his hips.

"Shut up." Sasha groaned, his own hands yanking at Voldemort's trouser button.

Voldemort started nipping and suckling on Sasha's neck as he tried to undo his trousers. Sasha moaned and stilled. The reason was two-fold; out of frustration at being unable to unbutton the damn clothes, and because Voldemort had hit on one of his sweet spots causing his brain to decompose instantly.

Finally, the Dark Lord's trousers dropped and Sasha breathed out in quiet victory. He moved himself so that Voldemort could get better access to him. Voldemort smirked with his own victory.

He trailed a hand down Sasha's chest but just as the finger's got to his hipbone, a knock on the door interrupted them. Both stilled.

"My Lord?" Lucius Malfoy called from outside the door.

"Leave Lucius!" Voldemort snarled, trying to keep the tension out of his voice and failing.

The other side of the door was quiet for a moment. "Of course, My Lord," Lucius said then, "I just wished to ensure that you are alright; when you did not arrive in the atrium, we agreed that we should check up on you."

"I do not _need_ a babysitter, Lucius. Leave!" Voldemort all but roared, unable to hide the intense irritation and frustration.

"Of course, My Lord." Lucius Malfoy said quickly.

They waited a little longer, but thankfully, Lucius had gone.

Sasha was suddenly struck by the situation and closed his eyes to stop the laughter rising in his chest. He failed and ended up chortling under his master. In a vain attempt to stop, he draped his arm over his eyes and tried to think of something else.

"You think this is funny?" Voldemort questioned from his position on top of him. It was a strangely unemotional voice that Sasha couldn't tell if it was angry or not.

Nodding, he removed his arm. "Yes." He replied with a helpless grin.

Voldemort shook his head. "I despair sometimes." He muttered as he got up off of Sasha and redressed himself.

Sasha breathed another laugh as he fixed himself up also.

There was no point trying to continue on with their previous attempt at some intimacy; the mood was gone.

Tucking his shirt into his trousers, Sasha looked up at Voldemort who was now picture perfect. "I supposed it's just as well," he said, "From that position I probably would have done my back in."

Sasha watched as Voldemort took a long, steadying breath. "I'm going to kill Lucius." He promised as he made for the door, "I swear he planned that."

Grinning, Sasha followed his master out the door.


	27. Chapter 26

_Hey guys, quick note before you read. There_ _will__ be some mentions of child abuse in this chapter. It's not much and not particularly graphic though; it certainly isn't anything you won't have read before in this story._

_Also, a couple of people were asking me when Lily was coming back into the story and she'll be in the next chapter. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Chapter 26_

...

{**Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The atrium was packed with people—Voldemort's people. The ministry, so grand and impressive, now cleaned and filled with dark cloaks and fidgeting werewolves, looked as if it had always been in Voldemort's possession. The Dark Lord appeared and moved in front of the crowds, as confidently as if he had walked these halls for years.

There was a raised platform and Voldemort stood up onto it. His followers looked up and the mild chatter died down as the Dark Lord surveyed his people. Sasha stood behind Voldemort, a dark figure to Voldemort's right.

Voldemort spoke.

"Friends," He announced, his voice booming easily, "The ministry is ours!"

Cries of triumph flooded the atrium. Cheers and laughter broke out and spread through the ranks. Both the Death Eaters and werewolves were ecstatic to have achieved what seemed to be impossible; bringing down the ministry. There was more to come, however; Voldemort would not let them dwell in their triumph for long.

"However," Voldemort continued ominously, stopping the cheers of victory, "We have not yet won this war. There is still more to go. There is one more battle, one final push before we can truly claim victory, before we can live as Dark wizards and werewolves in a world that does not persecute us. Even then, we will have ways to go. The end of the war will only be the beginning of our regime. For now, however, we must stay vigilant; the forces of Light are on the move, Dumbledore is running scared. We have only a few more obstacles in our path. Soon, even they shall crumble.

"It will not be a simple road and some of you may not survive it, but you will die with glory, immortalised forever as heroes of this war. And I _know_ that you will take down as many of those Light dogs as possible before you fall. You are warriors, the knights of our ideals. With your aid, pure-blooded children will learn of our successes for millennia. We are on the cusp of history, my friends; we will succeed, we _will_ destroy Dumbledore and all of his lackeys. We will _triumph_!"

Once more, the crowd went wild. Sasha smirked softly, amused at how easily his master manipulated the feelings of his minions. Voldemort watched the joy of his followers, emanating smugness and satisfaction. His eyes glided over the atrium, contemplatively.

"Dumbledore approached me." Voldemort said quietly.

"Oh?" Sasha asked with the same volume.

Red eyes flickered in Sasha's direction. "He mentioned some interesting things—about you, in particular."

"Did he really? And what was that?"

Voldemort turned and gazed at Sasha. "He seemed to think that you were not altogether loyal to the Dark."

Without waiting for a reply Voldemort stepped down off the platform and strode away. He ordered a nearby Death Eater to do something, but for the most part he let his men enjoy their celebrations.

Sasha frowned but followed his master about four steps behind.

"You know I'm not." Sasha replied when they finally arrived in a more secluded area, a darkened corridor. "Loyal to the Dark, I mean. You always knew where my allegiances did and did not lie. Why would it bother you now?"

Voldemort stopped.

He turned around. Eyes flaring accusingly.

"You neglected to tell me that you spoke to Dumbledore."

Sasha blinked. "Is that what this is about? _That's_ what you are angry over?"

"And why shouldn't I be? Did you not think this information would have been useful to me? Did you not think I would have _appreciated_ knowing that my ward was fraternising with the enemy?"

"Fraternising?" Sasha echoed, his voice high with indignation, "Is that what you think it was? You thought I would bother with Dumbledore? Of all people, him? He came to _me_—looking for _you_, I might add. _I_ was just minding my own business. You're making it out as if I was conspiring against you, as if I had something to hide from you."

"Don't you?" Voldemort questioned heatedly, taking an angry step forward, "Isn't that why you keep your shields up in your mind all the time? Why you skulk around and play whatever part you deem necessary with such _finesse_? How do I know this is not all an act, hmm? That you are not just playing me? You could be planning to leave for Dumbledore and how am I to know?"

Sasha was shocked into silence. He stared at Voldemort blankly, blinking once and then twice. "Is this what you think?" He asked slowly, "That I am untrustworthy? Why? I have devoted my _life_ to aiding and serving you. Where is this coming from?"

"Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore!" Sasha interrupted. An action that was usually out of character, "You trust the words of the enemy? Over me? After everything I've done? Haven't I proven myself enough to you yet?"

Angry red eyes narrowed to slits, "I don't know." He spit.

Sasha snarled in rage and, in keeping with his uncharacteristic actions, he rushed over to Voldemort and grabbed him by his robes with both hands.

"I have _nothing_ to hide from you—nothing. I didn't tell you about Dumbledore because I had no chance. When should I have told you? When you were working on Fudge? When you had me half undressed? Or when you were addressing your followers. I _sent_ Dumbledore _your_ way. So that you could fight him and finish him once and for all. Me. I did it. No one else. Not Dumbledore, not the universe, not your Death Eaters or your plans. Me. I handed you your nemesis on a platter.

"He wasn't even going to search you out, I found him skulking around the lower depths like some kind of rat. He wouldn't have even opposed you—he certainly wasn't equipped for it; not with his precious Order of the Phoenix missing." Sasha's hands gripped Voldemort's robes so hard they turned white and started to shake, "I've given you all; I have nothing left—only you. And I have nothing to hide from you."

Sasha's hands unfurled from their clutches and moved up to rest lightly on his master's jaw. His voice was less angry when he spoke again. "I have nothing to hide from you. My shields are down, so if you must, search my mind—all of it. You will see."

And Voldemort, the bastard that he was, did.

His eyes widened at the greedy notion of finally knowing everything, he rifled through Sasha's memories, throwing both himself and his ward into one after the other in a terrible succession of moments. Painful and pleasant, it didn't matter much which was which, at the speed Voldemort travelled, Sasha could scarcely keep his head from swirling.

"_You think that's funny, do you?"_

"_Ah, the young warrior returns."_

"_Why Voldemort? Of all the people you could have given your allegiance to. What could he have possibly done to deserve such unwavering loyalty?"_

"_Death is natural."_

"_You, like Nature, will always have one foot in Chaos and one in Balance"_

"_I'm not human, Diana."_

"_I need to get back. It doesn't have to be for long, just enough for me to tell Voldemort that I'm okay."_

"_Humans are the only creatures that wish for immortality, Sasha. All other creatures, eternal or otherwise, are fearful at the notion of living forever."_

"_My name is Paveh Drux."_

"_Allow yourself redemption. Cease your scuttling in the darkness and step into the light, not as fractured shadows but as wizards, men and women, strong and proud and powerful. Seek vengeance or justice. Fight. Join us. And remember the name of your saviour, your master, The Dark Lord Voldemort."_

"_You're running off with that filthy muggle girl again, are you not?"_

"_Let me go; it's Harry! It's my son"_

"_... our families are members of the Order of the Phoenix." _

"_You are trying to make the Expiscor Intentus. That is a dark potion. Older than even I and not one I am eager to see again."_

"_Reckon you've got a way with them creatures."_

"_Ah, what is this, hmm? Oh yes, yes, I sense great loyalty in you, great bravery; it would put Godric Gryffindor himself to shame..."_

"_You want me to...attend Hogwarts?"_

"_Most sane people would have the sense to fear me, to beg at my feet for mercy."_

"_Listen to me, Sasha, listen; Tales is gone. There is no one left. Everyone's terrified of these killer guys. They want a leader, Sasha, a proper leader, someone to protect them—someone who's strong. Now is our time. Now is your time. Take it."_

_Sasha cut across him, a few feet ahead. He stopped. They were standing in a square, bustling with people and surrounded by traffic. They could have missed each other easily and yet they didn't. Sasha stopped in front of him, pivoting on his heel to take a good look at him. He faced forward, staring unflinchingly into the red slitted eyes of the dark lord._

Sasha bit back a hiss of pain as Voldemort delved deeper into his mind. So deep that Sasha almost thought the Dark Lord would end up lost in his memories and thoughts. This deep down; this was where all the dark stuff was kept. This was what Sasha had spent years repressing so that he could become strong enough to stand by his master.

The only thing Sasha had ever hid from Voldemort, in this moment would be uncovered. Sasha's heart beat wildly in his chest, his mouth dried up. Would Voldemort recoil in disgust at his weakness? Would he turn on his heel and leave Sasha there and then? Sasha clenched his eyes out of fear; both of Voldemort's reaction and of recalling exactly what had happened to him.

With a brutal shove, Voldemort opened the mental floodgate that Sasha had so long ago composed. Sasha fell to his knees with a shocked cry, but the images didn't stop.

...

_It was the height of summer. The sun beat down from its position high in the sky. Midday. It hung there like a lamp in an interrogation room. A five year old Sasha couldn't see the faces of his attackers, only able to familiarise himself with the shape of their silhouettes. _

_On the ground, Sasha brought shaky fingers up to his lips. He looked down. Blood. Shock kept him on the ground, pain kept him from speaking up._

"_We don't want you near us." One of his assailants spat._

"_Stay away from us; we don't need any trouble." Another said._

_Sasha's eyes widened and watered, "But..."_

"_Stay the hell away from us. We can't be seen with you."_

"_But I just—"_

"—_You come near us again and we'll kill you." They promised, moving away from him._

_Sasha knew why they didn't want to be near them. The orphanage owner was at fault. Ever since he started to notice Sasha, no one else wanted to be near him. The fear was that they would be caught in the violence because of proximity._

_He wanted to follow them, to try and explain his position. He wanted them to forget about the owner and their fear and befriend him. He struggled to his feet, preparing to run after them pleading, when a voice inside his head told him to stop; no good could come out of it._

_Lonely, saddened and terrified, Sasha watched the group go. _

_..._

_Six years old and running. That was the state of Sasha Kamenev at that moment. Running away from some other daily horror. If it wasn't the kids or the carers, it was the creepy old man that hung around just outside the orphanage at strange times._

_And he wasn't interested in adopting, either._

_Sasha had barely escaped from the old man's wandering hands and sickening eyes. It had been luck—nothing more than that. If that police car hadn't driven by in that very second, the old man would have pulled Sasha into the alleyway and that would have been the end of it. Whatever '_it'_ was. Sasha wasn't exactly sure, but it couldn't be good._

_He didn't stop running for a long time, coming only to a halt at the gates of a small green area. It couldn't quite be called a park, but it had a lawn and a small playground and trees and bushes around the edges. It was a suitable hiding place._

_Keeping to the edge of the green, Sasha hid himself in the bushes beside an old, half bare tree. It was cold out and he had to wrap his arms around his skinny body in an attempt to stay warm. Threadbare clothes did little to ward the weather away._

_Sasha huddled against the tree, watching with mild interest at the other children and parents that were availing of the playground. Happily running around and enjoying themselves. Playgrounds were dangerous places in Sasha's view; they were the sort of places where a concerned parent would notice a lone child, where the police would be called in. They would take him to the orphanage and he would be accused of trying to run away._

_It would bring attention to himself. Attention was something that Sasha could not afford to have on him. Attention meant bad things would happen. Children went missing when too much attention was put on them._

_But he didn't come here to think about things like that._

_Sasha closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. It was in those rare moments of quiet, encased in the shrubbery of the little green that Sasha heard it best. Like a guardian angel, a thousand voices, a presence._

_Sasha couldn't remember when he started hearing the thousand voices that represented one being but it had been a constant presence with him. Especially when he was alone in the little park. It comforted him, made him feel safe and secure and loved—as if he wasn't some little freak orphan that no one cared about._

_Sometimes it told him to do things; run away if he was standing stiff, stay still if he was going to run. Always doing what was best for him. Like a parent, but not._

_Sasha looked around at the swings, parents pushing their children back and forth._

_That voice wasn't like a parent. Just a friend maybe... But Sasha wasn't sure; he had never had one._

_The being whispered in his ear soothingly, telling him not to worry, that it would be there for him. _

"Sleep,"_ it said, _"We will protect you. No harm will come to you."

_Sasha closed his eyes._

_He slept._

_..._

"_I'm sorry!" Words ripped from a seven-year-old's mouth._

_It was The Room. That bloody, dark, dank, dire room. The floorboards creaked under the weight of the man in front of Sasha, standing tall and threatening, like some sort of demon from a nightmare. Biblical almost, the feeling of terror that ran through him like a plague of locusts._

_The man had come in, not because Sasha was shouting anymore or because he was making any sort of noise, but because of boredom. Sasha knew the look, that malicious glint that shone at the thought of dominance over a weaker being. His heart dropped with the familiarity of it every time._

_He was so sore already and this man, this person kept hurting him._

_Furled up into a little ball, Sasha took the kick to his side. _

_He wasn't crying. It had gone beyond tears. _

_Even in the dark room, Sasha could feel the dimness on the outskirts of his vision. He would die there. He knew it._

_Another kick and then one more. Sasha gasped, breathing now a difficulty. "I'm sorry." He wheezed, hoping desperately that his one keyword would work this time. _

_But it didn't. And Sasha couldn't take it anymore. He broke._

_His mind shattered in a brief moment and his body became separate to his semi-consciousness. The body that was once his was dying, broken now, bleeding on the inside and everywhere else. And just when he thought that was the end. A sharp pain—not physical—in his head, brought him back._

"No!"_ It screamed, those voices, that being, _"You will not fall!"

_But he had given up._

_Anger. Rage. Fury. These feelings that were not his own welled up inside of him and pooled over in quantities he had never experienced or thought possible. It was an ancient feeling, older than perhaps even the world, or the universe. And it came from that being._

_In that moment, Sasha's mind was thrown firmly back into his body. It, however, was no longer his own. Overwhelmed by some sensation he couldn't understand, Sasha realised that his body was moving of its own accord._

"You will pay."_ His mouth opened, but it was not his voice that came out and it was not him that said it. _"We will end you."

_His body, as if held up by strings, rose slowly from the ground. Legs trailing limply on the floor._

_And then there was power. Power enough to make him lose sanity and it rushed through him, healing him, destroying everything around him. A black light shone around his slight figure, an unholy halo. The man, his tormentor stood petrified and Sasha knew without seeing that his face muscles were formed into an evil grin._

_With the barest of whims, the man in front of him exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, blood and lumps splattering around the room as if it was a meal left in the microwave for too long._

_Inside his head, Sasha screamed in terror. Outside, he laughed cruelly._

_The ancient being still had possession of his body. It carried him out of the room, the paint peeling and the walls crumbling as he passed by. There were screams and shouts and more people died, each one after the other, all fast, all brutal._

_Then they were gone. Threat neutralised. Evil purged. The orphanage broke and crumbled around him. It fell as soon as he was taken outside, crashing behind him with a massive crush, dust and plaster rushing past his body with an almighty 'whoosh'. Even if there had been survivors, they were dead now._

_The being brought Sasha's body away from that place, letting him down gently in the little park, by the old tree that was half bare._

"Rest now,"_ The voices said soothingly as it gently gave him back his body, _"Rest. Everything will be better when you awaken."

_Sasha, powerless against the lull of that ancient voice, closed his eyes and fell into a deep healing sleep. When he woke up, his mind had repressed many of the events. He had flashes of the past, of the orphanage and the monsters in there. He knew the feelings he had carried with it. But he had no idea as to why his clothes were drenched in blood when his body was healthy and why he was in the park. _

_And there was an absent feeling also. _

_He felt as if something was missing, a presence that had been with him was gone. But he couldn't remember what that might have been; only that he was now cold and scared and alone._

_Venturing back to the orphanage and finding it razed, Sasha did the only thing he could think to do; he ran. _

_Once and for all, he ran._

Sasha gasped on the floor, his eyes wide and bemused as he was forced to remember everything he had repressed. Rather than thinking about all the things that had been done to him, he thought of that voice, that being. Nature.

She had always been there. He hadn't understood as a child, not realising she was a goddess. Nature had saved him. He always wondered what had happened when he woke up that time. Never knowing but feeling it was big. Now he knew. Nature.

Bloody hell.

In his head, Nature whispered soothingly, metaphysically stroking his brow, sensing his discomfort. His mind kept going back to this; Nature had been there all along. He had forgotten her for some time, but she hadn't forgotten him; she was just waiting. And by seventeen, she had waited enough deciding only then to reclaim what had always been hers.

What would they say if they knew? Diari Vehgal? Navaa? Paveh? Voldemort?

Voldemort...

What was Voldemort thinking? Hell, he would have preferred if the man had never seen that. That was his weakness, the very darkest part of his soul that he had kept locked away for so long. Would Voldemort abandon him for this? Would he see this as a weakness, as rot on Sasha's core? The man had always known Sasha was mistreated as a child. But there was ill-treatment and then there was... this. And Sasha knew he had been the perfect little victim.

Dreading meeting Voldemort's gaze, but knowing he looked pathetic on the ground; Sasha found his feet and slowly stood. Hesitantly, his eyes rose to catch the Dark Lord's.

"Now you know." He said eventually, when Voldemort had yet to speak.

Sasha was struggling to keep his features neutral.

"Now I know." Voldemort reiterated, turning on his heel and striding away. Sasha watched him go, unsure if he should bother following. The man's voice had certainly not given anything away.

Voldemort got to the end of the corridor and turned around. "I expect my right hand to be by my side while we plan our next move," He said as if agitated, "I should hope he would not be too preoccupied with reminiscing to complete his duties to his master."

Sasha sighed wholly, his entire body sagging with relief. "Of course not, My Lord." Sasha replied, catching up with Voldemort and walking beside him.

Knowing he should just be happy that the Dark Lord hadn't done something like _Avada Kadevra_ him, Sasha almost grimaced when he made the decision to not let sleeping dogs lie. "Do you still mistrust my allegiances?" Sasha asked.

Voldemort gave him one, long look out of the side of his eye. "You were justified in your actions," He replied eventually, "I, however, was not. I should not have doubted you."

Sasha hadn't been expecting an outright admittance, but there it was. It surprised him. And, if he was being honest with himself, it pleased him. He nodded once, knowing that this was the end of the conversation. It would not be brought up again.

"Come," Voldemort said, "I have a job for you to do."

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The Death Eaters were gathered in Lucius Malfoy's dungeons. Nobody knew why. They had merely received orders to be there and so, they were. Voldemort was not there. He had yet to arrive, but they would wait nonetheless.

"We've been here an hour now." Rookwood complained, pocketing his gold pocket watch.

"What's the point in calling us if we're only waiting around?" Travers agreed.

A few others muttered in agreement, shifting restlessly.

Lucius Malfoy stood still. "We will wait for as long as is necessary." He said, quietening the immediate protests.

"Why are we _here_ Lucius? You must know; this is your house after all." Mulciber said.

"Observant as ever, I see." Snape commented dryly, wrapping his long cloak tighter around his body to protect against the cold air in the dungeon.

Mulciber spun, "What did you—"

"Gentlemen, please." Lucius warned.

Grumbling, Mulciber let it go. Snape sighed and rolled his eyes.

Bellatrix giggled. "You boys are just so silly." She said.

"Let's not stir, dear." Rodolphus sighed.

Bellatrix scowled and lifted her chin with a defiant 'hmph', but didn't continue. This caused Barty to snigger.

"Whipped, much, Bella?" He asked.

"Shut up, Crouch!" Bellatrix snarled in response, "Or else I'll gut you here and now." She took out her wand and pointed it fiercely at his chest.

Barty smirked and put his hands in his pockets, sauntering up to Bellatrix until the wand hit his chest. "Go on, try it." He taunted, "See if you won't be in the same shape once the Dark Lord is through with you."

"He doesn't care about you." Bellatrix hissed.

"Then do it, make my day." Barty challenged.

Bellatrix looked ready to do it, Rodolphus stepped forward to break up the fight but before he could, the witch turned on her heel and stomped to the other side of the room. "You're not worth the effort."

Barty laughed but didn't say anything else.

"I wish you two would stop your constant bickering," Lucius said, "It really does become tiring."

"I wonder what the Dark Lord has had us gather here for." Avery asked.

Dolohov nodded, "It can't be a normal meeting, not with all of us down here."

"I truly could not say the reasoning behind our Lord's actions." Lucius replied.

"Nor should you try to." Bellatrix said, leaning again the wall, "It is not your place nor anyone else's to try and guess the Dark Lord's mind."

"Not even yours, Bellatrix?" Barty asked.

Bellatrix scowled and crossed her arms. "Not even _yours_, Barty." She retorted.

"Oh, shut up, you two." Rookwood snapped grouchily.

Surprisingly, neither Barty nor Bellatrix challenged Rookwood and the Death Eaters fell back into silence. A few minutes passed, and a few more after that. Then, Voldemort appeared in the doorway, floating into the room with all the terrible authority of a Dark Lord.

Sasha followed a step behind, skulking in the man's shadow, eyes slowing passing each and every Death Eater.

The Death Eaters lowered themselves before their lord.

"My loyal followers," Voldemort said, his voice quiet, "I trust you have enjoyed your rest?"

"Yes, my Lord." They murmured in unison.

"That is good. I am pleased. As a reward for your bravery and loyalty in our coup of the ministry, I have permitted your presence here tonight. I wish to put on a show for you. A spectacle. I wish for you to witness the penance of a coward and a defector."

Voldemort held up his wand and muttered a spell. The air before him shimmered before a person appeared and crumpled onto the ground with a thud. "You may rise." Voldemort told his Death Eaters, "_You_ may not." Voldemort hissed, putting his foot on the back of his squirming prisoner.

"I present to you, my loyal followers, Peter Pettigrew." Voldemort announced. "You will witness his trial and sentence here tonight."

"Please my Lord, please, you must—" Pettigrew begged on the floor.

Voldemort ignored him. "This _rat_ left his post and fled the battle, leaving his allies to die while he scarpered off to safety. And if that was not reason enough to have him culled, I found the rat with a half-written letter to Albus Dumbledore, pleading for sanctuary!"

A waved of disgusted sounds passed over the ranks and the Death Eaters glared down and the snivelling Pettigrew.

"Mercy, my Lord." Peter cried, "I was foolish, I see that now, I—"

Voldemort laughed, "Save your voice, Peter, for your lies will not save you. It was my own ward, after all, "He gestured to Sasha, "who found you _and _your letter to the enemy. You cannot deny it, you cannot redeem it, you can only accept the consequences of betrayal."

Peter sobbed.

"However, I am a fair master..." Voldemort said slowly, "And it is not right that I torture you."

Peter looked up, "Oh, thank you my Lord, thank you!"

"Sasha." Voldemort said.

"My Lord?"

"You found Peter. It is only right that you do the honours, not I."

Sasha nodded. "Of course, my Lord."

Sasha stepped up, taking out his wand and gazing down threateningly at Peter Pettigrew.

Peter stared in horror, gasping for air in terror as he started to scoot away.

"And Sasha." Voldemort said.

Sasha looked over his shoulder towards his master.

"Do make it interesting."

Smirking, Sasha looked back down at Peter. "As you wish, my Lord."

* * *

><p><em>Also, thanks to fede for the review!<em>


	28. Chapter 27

_Hey guys, quite a short chapter this time. Sort of a set-up for the next chapter really. Enjoy._

* * *

><p><em><span>...<span>_

_Chapter 27_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

There were no fireworks when Lily Potter arrived home after all that time, only an exhausted husband to greet her, drained by his worry and despair. They had hugged and he had acted happy enough to see her, but Lily knew what was going on underneath.

James looked at her with eyes that shone of fear.

She knew he wanted to ask her questions; where had she gone? Why did she leave him? Why didn't she say anything apart from leaving a very brief note on her bedside locker? Didn't she think he would have appreciated her letting him know that she was alright? That she was alive?

Lily knew these questions were haunting her husband. She knew he had spent endless nights awake, innumerable days wandering in a half-stunned state, wondering, waiting, worrying. Lily also knew he was too scared to ask her; terrified of the possibility that he could lose her once and for all. So he said nothing and merely hid his pain—poorly.

Lily and James Potter had their reunion, albeit an awkward, strange one.

They went into the sitting room, made a cup of tea and spoke about the weather and the war and of something funny that Sirius had said the other day. Never once did James hint that he knew Lily's behaviour was out of the ordinary. Never once did he let on that his heart was breaking for a woman who couldn't possibly love him the way he loved her. After all, if she felt the same way about him, surely she couldn't have packed her bags and left as she had so many months ago.

If Lily hadn't been so focused on her son, she would have felt bad about what she was doing. She was well aware of the effect her actions had on James. She was killing him; slowly breaking the man down until he was nothing but a shell. But her son was everything to her and she could not afford to waste time thinking about the man who did not even believe her when she said the child was alive.

That didn't matter now, Lily would show them all—or she wouldn't, it didn't matter because her son was alive and she now knew how to get him back. But she couldn't do it yet. It would take time and before anything else; she would have to get rid of the Order of the Phoenix from her house.

At that very moment, they were sitting in her living room.

All of them quiet as they waited for Dumbledore to start speaking. He was looking more grave than anything else these days and tonight it was even more apparent. He had just come back from the Ministry of Magic, powerless to stop the Dark from taking it over.

The Order hadn't been there to make a stand. None of them were able to help Dumbledore against the Death Eaters. They had all been away. Exiled as they searched for the horcruxes Dumbledore so believed Voldemort possessed. Weeks of searching and they had been called back, only to learn that all of their leads were false. They hadn't been there for Dumbledore when they were needed. It created a sombre mood within the group.

The ministry and Azkaban were now taken by the Dark. All that belonged to the Light was Hogwarts and a few safe houses dotted around the country. No one could deny it, no one was fooling themselves; the future looked bleak.

Dumbledore rubbed his brow and sighed.

"Sasha Kamenev," He started sombrely, catching Lily's attention immediately, violently, "Is Voldemort's right hand. The boy was not coerced, not beaten into submission or Imperioused into loyalty. He has chosen this fate for himself. It is as we feared; Voldemort sent him to Hogwarts to get the Philosopher's Stone. He wasn't taken from us."

There were murmurs and gasps.

"We let him into our home." James muttered in disgust.

"He took advantage of us, of our children!" Molly Weasley breathed in horror at the brutal truth.

"We can't let them know," Alice Longbottom quietly said, "It would kill them to know that Sasha wasn't truly their friend. They all spoke so highly of him. That sort of betrayal... it would ruin them."

"They'll find out eventually." Alastair Moody growled. "Better they learn this now."

"We can tell them that he was taken. Pretend that he was turned. It, at least, would stop them from blaming themselves." Remus Lupin suggested.

"I can't believe he tricked them—tricked us—all of us." Sirius Black said, "He's in league with Bellatrix, with my cousin. I..." His voice caught in his throat as he realised just how much he had been played the fool. Sirius thought of the time he had taken Sasha aside and given him a heart to heart. The boy had pretended to appreciate his words, to listen as he spoke of Bellatrix. Merlin, he was like Bellatrix. How could he not have seen it?

"Did you see him?" Lily asked with seemingly only vague interest. In truth, her insides clenched anxiously. "Sasha Kamenev, I mean. Is that how you know of his loyalties? Or did you just take Voldemort's word for it?"

The room quietened and everyone regarded her. They all remembered Lily's reaction to Sasha. Wary of her reasons for asking, Dumbledore answered only after some consideration. "I spoke to him." He said slowly, "He told me himself that he was loyal to Voldemort. He believes that Voldemort saved him. I cannot comprehend why, however."

"Saved him?" Kingsley Shacklebolt questioned, "Why would Voldemort do such a thing?"

"Alas, I do not know. I spoke also to Voldemort. He has not changed; he is as hateful as ever he was. If it is true and he did save the boy; it was not for altruistic purposes. This child has something that Voldemort must want. And as such, we must assume he is dangerous. From meeting him, I cannot say much, only that he is not normal for a boy his age—different."

In a way, Sasha reminded Dumbledore of Tom at that age; too old for his own good, jaded and powerful but not with a mind for Light.

"It doesn't sit right with me, fighting a boy so young—and a former student no less. Even if it was only briefly." Minerva McGonagall said, "Could he not be turned back? If we take him, could he not be made see the light? He is still so young..."

With a weary shake of his head, Dumbledore explained why, "He is devout. Not through ideals, not through fear or lust of power. Purely because of Voldemort. He told me as much himself. He does not carry the Dark Mark, yet he follows the Dark Lord unwaveringly. And who knows how long Voldemort has had him? It has been years at the very least. Voldemort owns him as much as he owns any of those poor souls he has branded."

The room was quiet for a long time. Lily mused on what she heard. She knew why Sasha was different; she knew he had taken after his father. But would Dumbledore? No. They didn't believe her when she spoke of such things. They would think she was acting crazy again.

In truth, Lily had her own plans for Sasha.

She was going to do something never before attempted. She was going to summon the Enoch Paveh Drux. Preparations were finished. Soon she would be ready and then she would make the man tell her where her son was and how to get to him. She would make Paveh tell Sasha that she was his mother.

With the war going on, Lily knew she would have to hurry. Before the battle started, Lily wanted to make sure that she had a chance to talk to her son and finish things once and for all with Paveh Drux.

And she would finish them. That man, that creature, that slime... well, the world would be better off without him.

The Order had continued talking, but who would want to listen? They were bickering among themselves over silly, inconsequential things. Lily was a mother; she knew what was really important and that was her son.

She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, staring out across her sitting room, biding her time until she could finally summon Paveh Drux.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Voldemort was sitting back in his seat, watching Sasha as he moved about his office.

He was pacing, a scowl furrowing his brow. Back and forth across the room, he was wearing down the ex-minister's expensive carpet. Eventually Sasha glanced over at the Dark Lord. He shook his head helplessly, "I don't know." He said. "Do you think it worked?"

The question had been a simple one and Voldemort hadn't expected to get such a reaction. Was Sasha happy with the results of his actions? That's all the Dark Lord had asked his ward.

Then Sasha had started pacing.

"If they do not fear you after that display," Voldemort replied with a shrug, "They are nothing but halfwits."

A few days ago, Sasha had approached his master with determination in his eyes and a stiffness in his jaw. He told Voldemort in no uncertain terms that the next time a victim was brought in for torturing, it would be _him_ that would do it—in front of everyone.

Upon demanding an answer from his ward, Sasha had explained how the ranks were lacking respect of late and that he had been trying to think of something to re-establish his dominance. This was what he had come up with.

Sasha bit his cheek. "Forgive me for not having faith in your halfwits." He replied.

Voldemort knew Sasha chose roles to play. When he needed to be, he could be a helpless little child, a popular school boy, an enigmatic right hand to the Dark Lord and—it seemed—a master torturer. Sasha didn't like torture, Voldemort knew this, but when it was necessary the boy was _good_, particularly good in fact. Even _he_ hadn't experienced anything quite so inventive and stomach clenching in some time. In his private moments, Voldemort had to admit to himself that he really did enjoy his little prodigy. Quirky behaviour and all.

Voldemort smirked, hiding it behind his hand. "You have set the seeds of terror in them. They are scared. Soon they will talk. Then, they will exaggerate. Before you know it; you will have become a figure almost as terrifying as I."

"Almost?" Sasha asked with disbelief, "Only almost?" He came forward, putting his hands on the desk that Voldemort was sitting behind.

Sasha was a funny creature; Voldemort had to admit, all worried and flustered in one moment and then in the next, a complete change. It was as if his worries with only with a mention of soothing, were suddenly gone, vanished from existence and then Sasha was ready to move on to the next thing. This time it was with light teasing.

"You've a long way to go yet." Voldemort told his ward, "It will take more than one rat-faced traitor for you to rise to a Dark Lord status."

Sasha gave a crooked half-grin. "So what kind of numbers are we talking about here?" He asked, slipping into a chair behind him. "Two? Three victims?"

"Let's see how far you get with those figures." Voldemort replied.

Pleased, Sasha leaned his head back on the chair and grinned. "Thank you." He said, "For letting me do that, I mean."

"I cannot deny that it was for selfish means; I was quite enthralled by your performance."

_Sasha stepped closer to the shuddering Peter Pettigrew. Whimpering, crying, tears rolling down his face, snot bubbling from his nose, Peter looked up pathetically._

"_Please..."_

_Sasha was merciless. He cast a cutting curse across his face. Blood splattered on the ground. Peter cried out, clutching his face._

"_Say it again. Go on. Ask me again." _

"_...N-no."_

"_Say it!" Sasha growled, casting another curse._

"_Please."_

_Sasha chuckled and hunkered down in front of Peter. "See," He said, "That wasn't so hard."_

"It was necessary." Sasha said with a frown.

Sasha had exceeded Voldemort's expectations. He had made him proud.

_Another cutting curse slashed down on Peter. The man screamed, his body heaving. At some point he had gotten sick and had rolled in it. His blood and bile mixed on his body in an ugly coating._

"_It's not going to stop, Peter; I'm never going to stop. You can beg all you like. You're a traitor, Peter Pettigrew, a filthy, cowardly traitor. Your death will not be quick. It will be slow and agonising and you will plead for death long before I grant it. You will thank me when I do. But that won't be for a long time yet. Hours and hours. Days even. When I do a job, you can guarantee it will be thorough."_

_With a lazy flick of his wrist, Sasha cast another cutting curse, this time onto Peter's arm and then again and again and again._

He truly had been brilliant. Truly magnificent.

"_I'm going to cut you up, piece by piece. You'll die when there's nothing left of you—not before... I think I'll start with your toes."_

Voldemort hadn't seen such beauty in some time. He had been captivated, mesmerised. Voldemort knew he would remember that night for as long as he lived.

"So you keep reminding me. Be that as it may, I must admit that I had to keep myself from taking you right then and there."

Sasha sat forward. "Oh yeah?" He said, looking interested.

"Come. I'll show you."

_The sun had risen before Peter Pettigrew stopped moving entirely. His dying wails still echoing around the dungeon, clinging to the stone like a bad odour. Checking for a pulse and finding none, Sasha pushed himself up from his hunkered position and, giving a brief bow to Voldemort, he left the room._

Sasha pushed himself up and onto his feet, rounding the desk and approaching his master. Instead of simply leaning over, he stepped in close and straddled Voldemort's lap. Arms around the Dark Lord's neck, Sasha met his lips passionately. Quickly deepening the kiss, he moved himself closer, pressing himself flush against Voldemort. He could feel Voldemort's interest easily against his lower half.

Voldemort's hands trailed up Sasha's back and tangled in his hair, suddenly yanking his head back. Sasha hissed at the surprising pain but ignored it once his neck started to get kissed and nibbled. He let out a long groan.

"Sasha!"

"Bloody hell!" Sasha breathed in shock, jumping off of Voldemort's lap and twisting around at the sound of his voice. He cleared his throat in embarrassment as he saw Navaa Talvan standing in the middle of the room—looking just a tiny bit repulsed.

"Navaa, what are you—"

"Have you seen Paveh?" She interrupted quickly.

Sasha frowned. "Paveh? Not since I was last on Shiran territories. Why?"

Navaa pursed her lips. "I need your help, he's gone missing."

Sasha stilled. Missing? His father? "Are you sure he's missing? Is it possible he isn't working or something?"

Navaa bristled. "You think I wouldn't know the difference? You are just a _pup_; I am three-thousand years old, Sasha, and Paveh has been with me during that time. I _know_ him. And I know when things are not right. Besides, I was supposed to meet him. He did not show up and I cannot contact him. Something is wrong. I will find him, but I need your help."

"I don't know where he is. Or how to find out."

Giving an angry hiss, Navaa jerked her head, "What has he taught you at all?" She asked rhetorically. "Your father is in danger and in times like these Blood calls to Blood. Only if you do not answer him will his Blood call to my Kin. If I cannot find him, any creature will hear his pleas, but by then, it will already be too late. The strongest call is Blood to Blood. Only you can hear him now."

"I don't know how to listen."

"I will show you." Navaa replied quickly, grabbing Sasha's arm, "But not here, we will need to be in Shiran territories, the sound is amplified there."

Sasha turned to look at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was sitting stoically at his desk, eyes glowing but his expression unreadable. Sasha shrugged apologetically.

He sighed as Navaa pulled him into a cross dimensional travel.

Sasha wondered how he was going to appease Voldemort after this.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"Lily Potter believes him to be her son." Dumbledore said sadly. "I fear for her sanity... and she was such a brilliant witch in her day."

The dark cloaked figure loomed in the back of the room. "He is her son." The man said darkly.

Dumbledore looked up from his hands, a frown touching his features. "How do you know?"

The man in the cloak did not answer. Instead, he took slow, purposeful steps to the end of the room.

"You must realise that I cannot be expected to trust you if you will not reveal anything to me."

The cloaked figure turned his head towards the headmaster, eyes hidden by the hood. "The boy is not human. With him on Voldemort's side, you will never win this war. You _need_ me. You do not have the luxury to demand answers from me."

Dumbledore's face pinched with disapproval but he did not speak, only regard his cloaked friend over his half-moon classes. His body wanted to sag in a heaving sigh; however, he did not allow himself to indulge in such a luxury. Such was his penance for aligning himself with this man.

"What would you have me do?" He asked instead in a voice that sounded half wheezed with defeat.

The cloaked figure shook his head. "There is little you can do. He will either have to be killed or taken away; and killing him is not something you are capable of."

"Why not?"

The cloaked figure was silent. "He is not normal." He said eventually.

Dumbledore looked back down at his hands unhappily. The mystery of Sasha Kamenev had recently been a constant presence in his mind. Unfortunately, the cloaked figure had shed no more light on the boy's status. It was disappointing—not to mention frustrating—as Dumbledore _knew_ the man had information on Sasha.

The man continued, "The war is coming to its peak; there will be one last great battle and I will make sure you do not lose. The time is near; all you have to do is what I tell you to. I will return shortly."

The cloaked figure left the room swiftly, floating out like a shadow.

Dumbledore watched him go.

He still didn't know much about that man. He was an enigma; showing up one day and prophesising the arrival of dark days, speaking of things Dumbledore would rather not have aired—even only inside his office, he decided to heed this man's words. The old headmaster wasn't exactly sure when the power balance had turned and he had become reliant on him, but somehow, Dumbledore was being strung along. The cloaked man was not normal; almost similar to the way that Sasha was not normal. But even still, he was different from that. He was a mystery.

Yet there was something that Dumbledore _had_ managed to pick up; the man was wary of Sasha Kamanev. It wasn't an all out display of emotion, but tiny, minute details; a pause before answering a question, an intake of breath at the mention of his name, a narrowing of eyes at the thought. Yes, this man feared Sasha.

Such an unlikely thing was interesting to Dumbledore; he could sense the man's strength. It juddered around him in a hazy aura invisible to eyes and tasteless to tongues and scentless to noses. But some sixth sense told him there was energy in the air when this man was around.

It deeply unsettled Albus Dumbledore.

A bad feeling settled in his stomach heavily like lead.

There was more going on here than just what he could see. The problem was, between his age and his sight, Dumbledore couldn't gather how much else was happening around him. It was an ominous sensation that Dumbledore couldn't shake off.

Things were looking bleak—even though he knew victory was almost assured.


	29. Chapter 28

_Thanks to fudgebaby for the review._

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_Chapter 28_

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**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"Lily?"

Lily Potter stared coldly, ignoring the question that had been posed at her.

"Lily Evans." Paveh said, this time not asking, because he knew it was, in fact, her.

She had summoned him. That was why he was standing in front of her at that moment. She kept him standing there by a complex, ancient spell she had learned from an old man on her travels. Paveh Drux stood in the middle of a circle drawn with chalk. The circle had forgotten symbols sketched around it, their power binding him within the circumference. It was a trap for Shira, some remnant of a struggle between them and humans aeons ago. Paveh knew he wasn't getting out of there unless Lily let him, and Lily wasn't letting him out until she got what she wanted.

Lily studied Paveh.

He hadn't changed, hadn't aged a day since that night seventeen years ago. He was still the same; handsome and tall, his skin still seemed to glow and his eyes shone brightly, dark though they were. When he looked at her she felt that very same heat as she had all those years ago, the same pressure to swoon at his feet, the desire to swear herself to him... The bastard. This man had ruined so much; her marriage, her life—even her son's life. And he had the cheek to stand in front of her, looking perfect and ageless and calling her by her maiden name.

"Potter. My name is Lily_ Potter_." She hissed spitefully.

Paveh nodded slowly, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Okay. Sorry." He agreed, "I know you're married. To James, right?"

"_Don't_ say his name!" Lily snarled, "You don't have the right to say his name. He's a good man; he doesn't need his name sullied by your voice."

Paveh looked at her strangely. "Alright." He gave another nod.

Paveh studied Lily.

She had aged. But then, it _had_ been seventeen years since he saw her that night at the ball. How old would she be now? Thirty-seven? Thirty-eight? There about. But she had aged well. A few more wrinkles, a slightly less defined shape and maybe a little bit of saggy skin by her jaw... but then, what man ever looked at a woman's jaw? No, Lily was still beautiful. Her eyes still held that bright spark of intelligence that had drawn him to her in the first place.

"What do you want, Lily?" Paveh asked then, somehow guessing it wasn't to get back together or to let him go.

"Answers." She replied shortly, "And you're going to give them to me or you won't be leaving here."

"Sure," Paveh said, "Go ahead." He was confused as to why she thought he _wouldn't_ answer her.

"Where is my son?" She demanded, angered at his unexpected co-operation.

"Sasha? I don't know."

"Don't lie to me." Lily warned. "I know some very Dark magic that even you won't be able to survive and I'm just _itching_ to use it."

Paveh frowned. "I'm not lying, Lily; I don't know where he is. He isn't with me."

Lily shook her head. "You're disgusting." She said, "Keeping me away from my own son."

"I'm not doing anything. Sasha is his own person, Lily. What do you think I am?"

Narrowing her eyes, Lily said, "So you mean to tell me you didn't hide the fact that I'm his mother from him? Admit it; you stopped him from learning about me."

"Stopped him? Lily, I _told_ him!"

"Then why hasn't he contacted me? Huh? Why hasn't he come to me?" Lily hit her chest angrily, taking a furious step towards Paveh.

"I don't control his life. What he does is his own business."

"Why would I believe you? You're lying, I know you are. Just like you lied seventeen years ago!" Her voice turning shrill.

Paveh licked his lips, saddened. "I never wanted to hurt you Lily, I'm sorry that I did."

"Shut up!" Lily screamed. "Shut up! You ruined everything! And for what? Why seduce me? Why bother?"

Paveh looked at her for a long time. He seemed sad, but Lily was too angry to see that. When he spoke, it was quiet. "It was my job to make sure you attended the ball that night. Not that I seduce you."

"Then why did you?"

Swallowing, Paveh shook his head. "I don't know." He admitted, half a whisper, "I just... I just saw you. You looked beautiful and you were intelligent and...tragic. I could see it in you; that conflict. The fact that you wanted to be there but didn't. That you felt like you deserved to be there but didn't. It was a vulnerability I hadn't seen in a very long time. I thought I had seen everything there was to see in this world and then I saw you, standing alone in the ballroom; a gentle soul.

"I wanted to take you home, protect you, love you. I'd never looked at a human that way before. They were always just something to work on..." He stopped, "If you had been there when I woke up; I would have asked you to stay with me."

Lily had been quiet as he spoke, but she hadn't been happy. Arms crossed and hip jutted defiantly to the side. "Why was it your job to make sure I was at that ball?" She asked coldly.

Paveh knew they weren't supposed to discuss their prupose to other species, but just this once he was going to ignore the rules. "We were preventing a great imbalance in the world."

"How?"

It was with reluctance that Paveh answered, "Had we not interfered," He spoke slowly, "You would have made up with your husband. A child would have been conceived that night and after the birth, a prophecy would have been made. The man you call Voldemort would have come to your house, killed you and your husband and marked your son as his equal."

"So?"

Paveh continued, uncomfortable in knowing that he shouldn't be telling her the future that had been averted. "He would have grown up unloved, neglected and attended Hogwarts when he was old enough. The boy would have become known as The-Boy-Who-Lived; the saviour of the wizarding world. The only one who could defeat Voldemort."

"And you wanted to stop that? Voldemort is _winning_! You've damned us."

"No. We didn't want that. In the long run, this reality is better for the world."

"Why? How could it possibly be?"

Paveh looked upwards, as if silently asking for a pardon. "Voldemort and your son would fight. In one great, last battle. Having lost mostly everything he cared for, the boy would stand fearlessly. And Voldemort would kill him." Paveh was interrupted by a startled gasp from Lily. He continued on regardless, "But, what Voldemort wouldn't know, was that your son would be his horcrux. By destroying the boy, he would weaken himself. But your son would not stay dead and the boy would return to life, killing the Dark Lord once and for all."

Paveh sighed, "And would live happily ever after." He finished, knowing his words would annoy the woman across from him.

Lily looked distraught, her eyes wide and her hair slightly matted with the cold sweat that had broken out all over her body. "And you stopped it from happening?" She breathed in horror. "Do you know how many people have died because of you?"

Paveh shook his head. "But you're alive." He said softly.

"I'm not supposed to be!" Lily yelled suddenly. Tears sprang up in her eyes and she looked away, using the side of her hand to roughly wipe away the pooling liquid. "It would have been better if you hadn't done anything."

"No," Paveh said, "It wouldn't. The boy that would have been your son was always going to be a problem. He would have gone into death and returned alive. That is against Nature. That is against Balance. He would have sent the whole universe crumbling. Whatever about a mortal becoming immortal; one who cheats death and returns to life creates _only_ Chaos.

"Not in your lifetime, nor his. Maybe not even his children's but his disturbance would have caused rot in the planet. It would have festered and grown like a tumour blooming in a body. And it would have consumed. My kind are not omnipotent, Lily. We can only do what is within our power. Had I not acted as I did, when I did, the world would have been a much darker place."

"It doesn't make it right." Lily whispered weakly.

"Yes," Paveh said, "It does. This way, at least, your son—our son—has two loving parents. He is not alone. If nothing else _that_, to me, is an improvement. That, and the fact that you are still here. I'm glad you're still here."

"I hate you." Lily whispered. Her voice was so full of raw passion that Paveh could hear the tears.

"I understand that." He said with a sigh.

Lily closed her eyes, steadying herself for a long moment. "I will kill you." She promised.

Paveh looked at his feet. "You will try."

"You don't think I can do it?" Lily demanded.

A humourless smile tightened Paveh's features. "Consider it an Enochian prophecy."

Rage was about to take her again. Her chest rose with indignation. She raised her wand swiftly and said, "Goodbye, Paveh."

She opened her mouth to take the breath that would leave her lungs as a killing curse. The air shimmered in front of her and, in her confusion, she forgot what she was about to do. A mere moment later, where there had been no one, there were now two people.

Her heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat.

"Sasha!" She gasped, recognising the dark hair and unique eyes of her son.

He seemed as surprised as she was that they were there. "Lily Potter?" He asked, the sides of his face pinching in bewilderment at the situation.

"Paveh." Navaa said strongly. "What is going on here?" She was careful to steer clear of the markings on the floor and pushed Sasha lightly away, indicating that he should too.

"What are you doing here?" Paveh asked his son and his on and off girlfriend.

In the confusion, Sasha didn't notice Lily approach until she threw herself onto him. He supposed it was a hug, although it seemed more like a desperate clutch. Sasha stood there stupidly. Why was it that every time he met Lily Potter she jumped him and started crying?

Remembering finally that she was his mother and she was aware of the fact, Sasha kicked himself out of his stupor. He eased his muscles and lifted his arms up, wrapping them around Lily's small frame, looking over at Paveh with a puzzled, but demanding look. Paveh shrugged and Sasha turned around just in time for Lily to pull herself away and get a better look at her child.

"My son." She said tearfully, beaming a joyful smile up at him. She placed her hands on either side of his jaw. "I missed you so much." She confessed and then pulled him into another embrace.

Paveh was smiling happily, watching the scene in front of him. Navaa was apathetic. She spied a glass that was half-filled with water and threw it down on the chalk symbols. They disintegrated under the liquid and with the toe of her shoe; Navaa once and for all erased the boundary of Paveh's confinement.

Lily caught the motion out of the side of her eye and broke apart from her son. Sasha turned with a frown. Before Lily could aim her wand, Paveh looked at his son with a small grin and turned to Lily, "Goodbye Lily" he said as both he and Navaa disappeared, leaving Sasha alone with his mother.

It all worked out so nicely for Paveh, that Sasha would have almost believed he planned it. Knowing, however that his father had been truly distressed before they arrived, meant that Sasha would not be following after him with a curse or two on his tongue.

Be that as it may, he was still stuck with his mother and that was one scenario Sasha had not prepared for.

He turned back to look at her. The anger from Paveh's opportunistic escape still lingered on her features. At least until she looked back up at him. Her face softened then.

"My son." She said again, adoringly, her head quirking slightly to the side.

Unsure as to how he should reply, Sasha nodded. "Lily." He said.

There was a moment of awkward silence where Sasha tried to figure out how to get away from her.

"Are you hungry?" Lily asked suddenly, "I can cook you up something."

Shaking his head quickly Sasha denied his mother the chance to provide for him. "No, that's not necessary. I've eaten already." He hadn't, but he was eager to leave.

"Nonsense." She denied, grabbing his arm and jerking him along as she moved out of the little shed she had used for her private interrogation. "James isn't in at the moment, so don't worry; no order members are going to show up."

"Lily..." Sasha tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen, quickly ushering him inside her house.

"Sit." She ordered as she hurried out of the room and into the kitchen.

Sasha did as he was told, sitting on a comfortable sofa in the sitting room of Voldemort's opposition. 'Surreal' was the word that came to mind immediately. 'Downright crazy' was another word Sasha found himself thinking while he waited for Lily to finish making tea and sandwiches and an assortment of cakes. Sasha didn't want any of them, but an odd string of decorum inside dictated that it would be rude not to take at least one or two. So he did, balancing his teacup precariously on his knee, eating his sandwich uncomfortably while Lily stared at him in awe.

"I want to know everything." Lily said suddenly.

Sasha coughed into his tea. "Everything?"

He thought of Voldemort. Of the position that Navaa had found him in not an hour ago. Then his mind swooped back over to his torture scene and further back still, his thoughts lingered over the revealing of his past to the Dark Lord. No, Lily didn't want to know about _everything_. Not really.

She gave a genuinely eager nod. "I've missed so much; I just want to make up for lost time."

"I don't think I'm ready to tell you everything..." Lily's face fell, "Just yet." Sasha added quickly.

Lily looked down at her hands. "I understand." She said sadly, her lip quivering slightly.

"I always loved you." She told Sasha. "You need to know that. You were loved—since the very moment of your birth. I didn't want to give you up; I've regretted it every moment of every day."

It suddenly occurred to Sasha that he didn't know why Lily had given him up. He had never felt the need to know, but now that she was here—and he was most certainly stuck—Sasha thought he might as well ask. "Why _did_ you send me to an orphanage?"

Lily's eyes went teary. Her voice shook as she took a breath. "Voldemort." She said, "We made a plan to trick him."

Nodding, Sasha remembered being told of this, "You claimed to carry the Philosopher's Stone."

Voldemort had told him this story some years previous. It was something that preoccupied the Dark Lord's mind every now and then; the first blatant success for the Order of the Phoenix and his first true failure. It had stung and Sasha had wisely not asked much about it.

"Yes. The order wanted to use us; myself and James, because we were a well known opposition of Voldemort—even publically we let our view be known. It was supposed to be at our house so the order could ambush him. It was dangerous for you to be there. I didn't want to give you up—even though it was only supposed to be for a few weeks—but James is pig-headed and I knew he would want to go ahead with his plans.

"It was supposed to be for a few weeks." She repeated, "But there was a mix-up, a clerical error. Files got switched and you were mistaken for another child. They transferred you to a different orphanage. When we returned a few weeks later, you were gone. They tried to get in contact with that other place."

Lily closed her eyes and was quiet for a long time. She had never forgotten the feeling of utter hollowness after she had realised she would never see her child again. But he was right in front of her and Lily knew that she wouldn't ever truly lose him like that now.

"There was a fire." She said eventually, "The whole place burned to the ground; the files and most of the children with it. We lost you in the confusion. They were never sure which name you took; there were too many files that were wrong. Most of the other children were old enough to know who they were, but the babies had to take whatever name was given to them. They couldn't even tell us which orphanages took the surviving children.

"We spent years trying to find you, using every tracking charm we knew. But when your identity changed, all we could find was the boy who was called Harry Potter because of the mistake. After a few years, James gave up hope, a few more after that and so did I.

"But then you walked through my front door. And I knew instantly that you were my son; you are the image of your father."

Sasha nodded, having heard that many times before. "What does James think of your affair?" He wondered aloud.

"James doesn't know," Lily replied quickly, "And I would very much appreciate it if you didn't tell him who your real father is."

"Sure thing." He said, then changed the subject, "It seems a little bit...coincidental, that it all happened, doesn't it?"

The orphanage, the mix-up, the fire, the new orphanage, the possession, the streets, the Dark Lord, the Potter's mansion. After everything that happened, he had ended up back where he began. And if one of those things had not happened when he was younger, Lily and James would have been able to find him and he would now be some other person, proud son of a mixed marriage. Yes, it was all very coincidental. Suspiciously so.

Lily nodded. "I sometimes thought it was strange. Looking back now, I can't even believe I gave you up; I didn't want to, I would have rather died instead. But they were different times, I suppose. We were all so frightened; perhaps that was just enough to make me think it would be alright."

"But what about the orphanage?" Sasha pressed, "How often do clerical errors happen like that? How many orphanages get burned down and children go missing? Even the fact that I survived as just a baby seems strange when so many other children died. It strange, that's all..."

Lily nodded. "But fate would have it that your back with me." She said with a smile.

Sasha knew he was beyond Fate, though and Lily's words didn't give him any comfort.

"How do you feel about it?"Lily asked.

Sasha looked at her strangely. "About what?" He asked.

"The orphanage. Knowing now what happened, knowing that I love you. What does it make you feel?" Her tone was as if her question had been obvious.

A shrug. "I never thought about having parents." Sasha told her. "As a kid all I ever knew was that I hadn't any. I didn't realise that everyone had them. When I got older, it stopped being important to me. Knowing now that you are my mother and Paveh my father and that I was wanted and loved... It's nice, I suppose, but it changes nothing. The way I felt about the orphanage won't change because I now know the reasons behind it. Things are the way they are; it's pointless to think of situations where they aren't."

"You mean to say that you aren't angry? Sad? Happy? You don't feel anything about it?"

"Sometimes things are meant to happen. I'm not saying that I wouldn't have appreciated a family every once in a while, but honestly, things won't really have been that different. Even if I had grown up with you, Paveh would have found me as soon as I started coming into my inheritance and he would have had to take me. When you think about it; we probably would have been in the exact same situation as this. Either way, it's likely I would have ended up having tea with you tonight."

"So you are like your father now? You have grown into your powers." There was a note of disappointment in Lily's voice.

"Yes." Sasha said stiffly, not sure he should even be telling her that much.

Lily Potter's eye narrowed as she thought of something. "Then how are you with Voldemort?" She asked, "I spent a lot of time learning about your kind; I know you can only take one master."

Sasha hesitated before he answered, "I'm not sure I should say anything to you, Lily," He confessed, "In here, we're mother and son, but outside there's a war on and in the battlefield we will be enemies."

"I would _never_ fight you," Lily promised fiercely, "No matter what happens you are my son— and a mother always protects her child; no matter what. Even though we're on separate sides of a war, even if we believe different things, there is _nothing_ that could keep me from loving you, from protecting you."

Licking his lips, Sasha decided to give her an answer, though he wasn't sure why; she was still the enemy, technically, and it was beyond his better judgement to trust her. Yet, he did trust her, even if he couldn't exactly say why.

"I'm different to the others. Before I came into my inheritance, I had already imprinted on Voldemort and that fact alone damned me. I was considered rogue by the, ah...Enoch. Paveh hid me, he kept me safe and he found a way for me to take two masters; he saved my life."

It wasn't exactly true, but it was close and with any luck it would stop Lily from trying to kill his father for now.

"He did that for you?" She asked, as if astounded at the notion.

Sasha nodded. "Of course, he's my father."

Her lips pursed. Lily didn't like to think that her son had a relationship with Paveh and not her. She knew it was a darker side of her personality, that deep jealousy that suddenly exploded in her chest, but she didn't bother hiding it. She looked down at her hands.

Sasha saw the gesture and understood it. "And you're my mother." He said, leaning forward, "Nothing can change that."

He didn't know why he wanted to soothe Lily's pain, only that he felt it was the right thing to do. Having a mother wasn't a concept Sasha was used to. He didn't particularly want one either, but here she was and he would have to work with that.

Lily's heart melted at his words. She gave a sad smile. "Thank you." She said softly.

Sasha nodded. "I need to know, Lily," He said, "Are you going to turn me in to the order?"

"No." She sounded repulsed by the idea.

"Okay. Are you going to tell them anything about what I've said?"

There was a scowl on her face. It was not directed at him but at the thought of the order. She explained why, "They never believed me. They thought I was crazy; spoke to me with soft voices and careful words. You are my son, my family, my blood. I would kill anyone who acted violently towards you—even James. I'll always have your back."

Sasha stopped and frowned. Was this what mothers were usually like? Was Lily a typical mother? Maybe he had to re-evaluate his view on family life. Taking cues from the Shira on such things probably wasn't wise.

"That's good to know." Sasha said quite softly.

Their meeting was interrupted by the opening of the front door. James was heard coming through the door. "Lily, I'm home." He called, stepping into the house and banging the door.

Sasha glanced to Lily accusingly as he stood up and took out his wand. Lily looked frantic, standing up also. "He's home early, I didn't know!" She tried to explain before Sasha hightailed out of there.

James appeared at the door way, happy grin falling from his features. "You!" He exclaimed, whipping out his wand and aiming it towards Sasha. "You'll pay for what you've done, Death Eater scum." He spit out a curse that rocketed towards Sasha.

"_Expelliarmus_." Lily cried, interfering with the curse.

"Lily..." James breathed in shock and betrayal.

"I won't let you hurt him." Lily told her husband sternly.

It was as if someone pressed pause; James still staring at his wife in shock. Then, as if someone pressed fast forward, he jumped into motion. "He _isn't_ our son!" He almost stumbled over his words with the speed at which he shouted at her.

"I_ know_ he isn't _our_ son." Lily replied spitefully, a sneer to match her tone.

Sasha figured now was the time to act before Lily said something she'd later regret and James caught onto his wife's dangerous statement. "Lily, I'm going now." He told her, just a little louder than necessary.

Lily spun on her heel with impressive reflexes. "No!" She denied.

Before she could damn herself anymore, Sasha spoke again. "Yes. I have to; I'll see you around though, right?"

Looking halfway between grateful and teary, Lily nodded. "Okay." She said softly.

Sasha nodded. "Nice to see you again James." He couldn't help taunting his mother's husband. He was after all, the bad guy.

Before James could reply with an undoubtedly witty statement, Sasha vanished with a loud crack, choosing apparation instead of his other means of travel. James need not know his abilities.

Lily was going to have a lot of explaining to do.


	30. Chapter 29

__Hey guys, I'm back. Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter, I didn't reply to some of them personally because was acting up and I then forgot who I'd replied to and who I hadn't. You know who you are anyway, so thanks!_  
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_Chapter 29_

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**{Enochian Prophecies}**

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"Sit down now." Navaa ordered over her shoulder as she left the room.

Paveh smiled and did as he was told, sitting down at the kitchen table. "I'm glad for her," He said, "I think she needs him."

Navaa came back inside, a scowl on her face. She was carrying bandages and an antiseptic bottle. "She's a grown woman," She complained, "Sasha doesn't need anyone _else_ hanging off of him. He's got enough on his plate as it is." She dropped the equipment on the table.

Dragging a chair over, Navaa sat in front of Paveh. "Give me your hands." She said.

Paveh did as was asked of him, revealing the blackened, sliced skin. It hurt. Still, he smiled. "You've never had a child, Navaa; it's strange thing. I never thought I'd be so happy to know someone else. Sasha's my son. And Lily's his mother. She needs him and it was about time she got to know him."

"Even if she injured you in the process?" Navaa scoffed.

"Well, yes..."

The means of bondage Lily Potter had used, the circle that had kept him in place had injured him. Stupidly, he hadn't believed Lily could have actually found the means to create a true imprisonment spell. Paveh was only young the last time he had seen one and he had just assumed the knowledge no longer existed within human memory. But no, it did. And Paveh had stuck his hands right through it. A mistake, Paveh concluded.

The pain was dull before and he had been able to ignore it, but now that he was back in his house, it was beginning to throb.

"If it was that important to you, Paveh," Navaa said sharply, "You could have just asked him to go to her—or take him there yourself if you cared that much. Instead, I have to pick up after you again. Look at your hands."

Navaa's voice was sharp, but her touch was soft and her expression was concerned. She poured the antiseptic cream onto her hands and rubbed it into the weeping wounds with care. "How did you manage to hurt yourself so badly?"

Paveh shrugged, unwilling to divulge his stupidity. "She's skilled for a human, Lily is."

Navaa's eyes flickered up. "Oh, we all know about Lily Potter's skills."

Paveh laughed, despite the pain from the cream. "Jealous, are we?"

The fingers stopped moving and then dug sharply into his palm. Paveh hissed and pulled his hands away. "For love of Balance, Navaa; it was a joke!"

"You can fix your own bloody hands." Navaa hissed, standing up sharply and turning on her heel.

"No, Navaa, come back. I didn't mean it, I was joking. It's just that you're so easily riled; I can't help teasing you sometimes. Come on, sit back down. "

Navaa was half way out of the room when Paveh said, "Don't leave me like this." She stopped and sighed and shook her head.

"You're pathetic." She said angrily, turning back to him. "You live in this fantasy world. You think everything is nice and good. You go around love-struck for a woman who doesn't love you, who clearly _hates_ you and wishes ony bad things for you. Even if she didn't, even if she was madly in love with you; she is human, you are not. She will age, she will lose her looks and her wits and she will die and then she will rot to dust. And you will still be here. And you will look as you are now. And Sasha. He will not have changed much and he will always remind you of her, of the love you so think you have. But you don't. You're going doe-eyed over a creature that you have no future with. This—this persistence will only bring you pain."

Paveh opened his mouth to speak.

"No," Navaa interrupted harsly, "Let me speak. I cannot live with seeing you heartbroken. I can't stand by and watch you turn into a shell. I know what you feel for her is real. I know you love her and you want to see her happy. And I also know you are not going to run away with her. But Paveh, it's not enough; you have to let her go. You have to forget about her or she'll take you with her when she goes."

Paveh nodded, "I know, I know."

"Do you? Am I making any sense to you at all?"

They stared at each other, for a long time until Paveh's eyes dropped guiltily, "My hands hurt." He muttered.

Navaa nodded and walked back over to Paveh. She sat down and picked up the bandages. Slowly, and with great care, Navaa took his hands and wrapped them in the cloth. Magic wouldn't work on those wounds; only time could heal them. The bandages would help keep infection at bay but little more than that.

Paveh watched her work. "I care for you, Navaa, you know I do."

Navaa's fingers slowed to a stop, and then started again. "I do."

"I didn't let Lily catch me; I really was in trouble."

Navaa continued working, no comment passing her lips. For a long time, Paveh let her.

Then he said; "I am trying to let her go, to move on...but I need more time. I can't just forget about her, not just like that."

Shrugging, Navaa tied a knot in the bandages. "I'm not saying that you do, or even at all; just that you consider it. Sasha deserves more than a shell of a father and so do I."

Paveh nodded.

Navaa moved onto the other hand. "Besides," She continued, "Galor would skin your hide if you lost your spark."

Galor Palun and Paveh were in constant competition, good friends, but competitive. They and Navaa were the only three that grew up even remotely in the same time. Navaa, however, had managed to stay out of the constant contests between the other two.

"If nothing else, there's that, I guess."

Navaa smiled and Paveh couldn't help but join her.

"Galor must still not know about Sasha. He's been earth-bound for a good few months now."

"No, he knows. He knew before even the elders did. He approached me some months ago and gave advice on what to do. That was just before he left."

Frowning, Navaa said, "How did he know?"

Paveh stilled and thought about it, "I...don't know actually. Maybe he saw it in the well of Balance?"

"Hmm, yes, maybe."

"I wonder when he's coming back. I'd like Sasha to meet him; I've already told Sasha so much about him."

Navaa shook her head, smiling, "He may be less impressed by the real thing than the stories you've told."

Paveh's hands were now bandaged; Navaa rubbed her thumb briefly over his skin before letting go.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Huffing out an amused breath Navaa said, "You paint him with a halo. You see only good in Galor—and even that is magnified. He is not half as infallible as you think he is. Not that there's anything wrong with that; only it is another example of your fantasy world."

Navaa screwed the lid closed on the antiseptic bottle. "You are too loyal by far Paveh, to the ones you are close to. Something, I think, your son may have inherited."

Standing up, Navaa continued, "Or maybe not. He, at least, is a realist." She quirked a smile, "I need to leave now; I have duties to attend to earth-side."

She leaned over and gave a chaste kiss on his cheek. Paveh let it happen. When she pulled away, he put a sore hand on her arm.

"Be safe, Navaa."

"Be good, Paveh." She replied with a smile, moving away from his touch and leaving the room.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

"Must I always compete for your attention?"

Sasha glanced over at Voldemort. In his private study, he sat in an old leather chair.

"I thought you were in the ministry." Sasha said with a frown. He hadn't expected Voldemort to be here, figuring that he would be much too busy where he was. Apparently, Sasha had been wrong. A pity. He would have appreciated a few moments of peace. He would have liked a chance to figure out everything that had happened and think of how he actually felt about Lily, Paveh and everything else that happened that evening.

"I have finished for the night." Voldemort said.

Looking over at the clock, Sasha supposed it _had_ gotten late. All his talking with Lily and running around with Navaa had taken time.

"Yeah," Sasha said softly, "That makes sense."

He moved across the room and sat down on a chair across from his master. Voldemort was sitting beside the huge crackling fire, a book settled on his lap. He looked relaxed now, somehow less like a dark lord and more like a possessive patriarchal figure. He supposed Voldemort was old enough to be his grandfather, after all. Well, not _his_ grandfather. Sasha's grandfather was probably older than the hills themselves.

"So, did you find your misplaced father?" Voldemort asked calmly.

Sasha sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hand tiredly. "Another family crisis..." Sasha groaned softly.

Voldemort raised his brow, "Do explain."

"Sometimes I think you harbour secret interests in my family affairs."

Voldemort smiled with amusement but did not speak, waiting for Sasha to expand on his statement.

"Lily Potter summoned my father, most likely with the intention of finding answers about me and possibly killing him after; Lily isn't exactly affectionate when it comes to Paveh, you know. Anyway, Navaa helped me follow Paveh's trail and I ended up in between him and her. Only, once soon I showed up, Paveh and Navaa left and I was stuck with her."

Voldemort looked genuinely amused. He took the book off of his lap, setting it on the couch beside him and crossed his legs. His eyes glinted with interest. "Go on." He fit his fingers under his chin, looking the epitome of the curious listener.

"There's not much to tell, I'm afraid; Lily just wanted to gush all over me. I reckon that she would have kept me if I had agreed to stay with her, member of the Order of the Phoenix or not. Of course, her husband arrived before we could get too immersed in our riveting conversation."

"How does James Potter feel about the son of his wife's affair returning from the dead?"

Sasha gave a tired smile, "He doesn't know Lily was unfaithful to him; none of them believe I'm her son. They think she's crazy because she lost her baby. They're all walking on egg shells around her. At this stage she'd rather be with me then against me."

Voldemort was quiet for a moment. "Do you think she would be a valuable asset?"

Sasha knew what Voldemort was thinking. "Could be. But she won't be turned." Sasha assured him, "She was around for the last war, she's a muggle born witch; there's no way she would ever agree to serve the man who would have her head on a stick."

"I would not hurt my own followers."

Sasha shrugged, "Be that as it may... she doesn't agree with your morals and I don't think she'll throw her own away."

"But she wishes to be with you, you say?"

He knew this would be a hard concept for Voldemort to understand. He knew because Sasha had enough trouble getting his head around it himself. "Apparently, it's the role of a mother to protect her children—no matter what the circumstances."

Voldemort 'hummed' doubtfully. "If you say so..."

"Her words, not mine." Sasha paused, "Besides, I didn't think you'd want to have one of the people who tried to kill you working in the ranks."

"I thought it could have perhaps been easier for you if you did not have to worry about your mother getting caught in the middle of our war."

Sasha looked at Voldemort with a strange expression and a funny twisting of his lips that might have passed as a grin. "That's kinda sweet," He chuckled but then shook his head, changing his mood, "But I don't understand why you'd think I'd find it difficult. I don't know Lily—I've never known her apart from one or two meetings. I know she's my mother but...what does that even mean? I don't know her; she doesn't mean anything to me. You needn't worry yourself about it. I'm not going to run off crying about her or anything,"

Voldemort seemed to muse on this. He didn't look convinced. "I'd like to think, after all this time together, I know you, Sasha." A smirk appeared on his lips, "You become more affected by these things than you would often like to admit."

"No I don't." Sasha denied, a little offended.

Voldemort held up his hand in order to appease or otherwise quieten Sasha. "You are a sentimental creature, Sasha," He said, "It is the reason why you ran off into the night to find your father, the reason you sacrificed yourself for that muggle girl of yours. It is even one of the reasons why you have stayed with me all these years. I have accepted this. It is not always convenient, but it is an intrinsic part of you, one that I have learned to live with."

Sasha watched him with a slight tightness in his jaw. It was more disapproving than anything else. "Maybe by your standards." He suggested, "But I'm not really all that sentimental." He grimaced at the thought.

"Denial is not a healthy thing to harbour, Sasha." Voldemort chided gently.

Rolling his eyes, Sasha knew that the Dark Lord was amused by this and nothing else.

Putting his book down, Voldemort stood up. Without another word he began walking over to the door. "Come." He said.

Sasha frowned inquiringly and got up off of the chair, following his master out of the room. They walked down the corridors, Sasha taking a few quick steps to catch up and move next to the Dark Lord.

"Where are we going?" He asked, looking over to Voldemort questioningly.

"A meeting." Voldemort replied, "My Death Eaters have just returned from scouting and they are waiting to report their findings to me. I delayed it about half an hour as it is, hoping that you might return in that time. I imagined that you might be interested in this."

Sasha nodded but gave a suspicious side-long glance, "What did you have them scouting?" He asked.

Voldemort didn't answer his question; instead he smirked and continued walking towards his destination. Sasha sighed and accepted his silence patiently, not entirely surprised that Voldemort would not answer.

They turned a corner and arrived at their destination; a meeting room that was less like a meeting room and more like a study. The only real difference from the one they had just come from was the arrangement of the furniture.

Once they appeared in the doorway, everyone in the room stood up respectfully. Sasha closed the door behind him and ran his eyes over the occupants of the room. There were seven. Voldemort's most loyal and trusted. Bellatrix met Sasha's eyes with an eager grin.

Sasha nodded to her.

"My Lord," Bellatrix greeted, bowing deeply in front of Voldemort.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort replied as he swept by her. He settled into the chair nearest to the fire, not bothered that he had after taken Antonin Dolohov's previous seat.

Dolohov, for his part, took his sudden displacement well and quietly moved to the back of the room. Sasha stalked through the room, going over to stand by the fireplace, leaning against the wall. Secretly, he enjoyed the heat.

Slowly, after Voldemort's gesture, everyone sat down. Sasha stayed standing; half cast in the shadows by the nook he fit himself into between the wall and the fireplace.

"How fared your quest?" Voldemort questioned pleasantly enough, as if making conversation with a few of his old friends. This—of course—was not the case. The meeting would continue on with that tone if they had done well, but if they failed... well, any pretence would be dropped.

Bellatrix shuffled forward in her seat excitedly. She had a huge, delighted grin on her face. The sheer pleasure of having pleased her master radiated from her like an insane aura. "My Lord," She said proudly, "We successfully skirted the boarders of Hogwarts just like you asked. We got Yaxley to draw a map showing the perimeters."

Bellatrix turned from jubilant to agitated in half a second as she turned in Yaxley's direction and snapped her fingers when he didn't move fast enough to unroll a parchment he held in his hands. Getting the results she desired, Bellatrix watched greedily as Yaxley moved forward and rolled open the parchment on a small coffee table in the centre of the room.

Sasha inclined his head slightly to get a better look at the parchment without having to move from his position.

A map was drawn on the parchment. Sasha vaguely recognised it as the grounds of Hogwarts. Drawn around the main grounds was what looked like a five-year-old's attempt at a circle. It was lumpy and uneven and at some places it was even squiggly. Sasha looked at Voldemort. He didn't seem to think this was unacceptable.

"As you can see, My Lord," Yaxley explained, leaning over the table, "This is the border of the wards around Hogwarts." His index finger traced the red markings that vaguely resembled a circle.

"There's weak points!" Bellatrix interjected excitedly. "Lot's of them."

Lucius coughed gently into his hand, trying to bring the tone back to the previous professionalism before Bellatrix's interruption, "With the right amount of coercion, we should theoretically be able to slip through the school's defences."

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, looking over the map. "Where are the weak points?" He asked.

It was Barty Crouch junior that jumped next to say his piece. He quickly hopped out of his seat and pointed to the Forbidden Forest. "There," He said exaltedly, "And there too. They're the best spots for us to go in." He also motioned towards the lake area.

Bellatrix glared at Crouch's interruption and sneered at him when he turned to go back to his chair. Barty just smirked at her as he passed by. If Voldemort noticed the childish rivalry between his followers, he didn't say anything. In truth, Sasha figured the Dark Lord probably didn't care all that much. He did, after all, enjoy cultivating a 'healthy competition' between his followers.

"Sasha," Voldemort said softly, "What do you think?"

Sasha raised a brow.

"You are, after all, the last one here to have attended Hogwarts." Voldemort finished.

"No reason not to use either of them. Both could work equally well. Though I can't imagine Dumbledore wouldn't expect an attack on the weakest part of the wards. He'll have an army ready and waiting for us without a doubt. But there's other ways, better ways. Ways we know would work," He took a step forward and looked down at the map, "Hogwarts is still the safest place in Britain. There'll be refugees, students, even muggleborns loyal to the Light maybe. They're all Dumbledore has. We get our hands on them and he'll be helpless; he can't sacrifice that many followers without the public turning against him.

"It may be similar to what we did in the ministry but we should infiltrate; Dumbledore won't be able to stop it. We can bring him down that way."

"What you're suggesting is a one man team." Voldemort said.

"Yes."

"For all those hostages—and possibly against order members?" Voldemort continued.

"Yes."

"Not alone. The risks are too high. There would need to be more than just one."

Sasha nodded, "I considered that. There's another way."

"Hogwarts is a fortress. There are no greater wards in the entire country—possibly even the continent, so _how_ do you expect to get inside?" Mulciber asked sharply.

Sasha glanced over at Mulciber but paid no more attention to him, instead he turned to Lucius. "Lucius, would I be right in saying your son has not stopped attending Hogwarts?"

Lucius raised a perfectly groomed brow at the question. He looked at Sasha with an amused smile, as if he had said something that was meant to be tantalising. "That is correct." He said softly, giving Sasha a smoky look. It was supposed to be flirtatious, undoubtedly.

Sasha pointedly ignored it. "When is the next time the students have a trip to Hogsmeade?"

Lucius shook his head in confusion. "Next week, I believe." He said slowly.

Sasha nodded and turned back to Voldemort. "I came across something interesting in my time at Hogwarts. A cabinet." Sasha said.

Before he could further explain himself, he was interrupted.

"A cabinet?" Avery scoffed, "We're basing our success on a _cabinet_?"

"Let the boy finish, Avery." Voldemort said darkly.

"A vanishing cabinet to be precise." Sasha continued, unperturbed, "Not even Hogwarts' wards could keep us out if we managed to get in through it."

His words caused controversy. There was a sudden explosion of noise and motion as every Death Eater in the room had something to say and gestures to match it. Only Voldemort and Sasha were still, looking towards each other silently.

Slowly, Voldemort raised a hand. "Hush." He said softly.

The room stilled.

Sasha decided to continue. "It should still be in the Room of Requirement provided someone hasn't moved it. I can't imagine they have though; there's no way Dumbledore would keep a vanishing cabinet in the school if he knew its power. I believe it might be broken so before we use it we'll need to fix it."

"What about the other one?" Voldemort asked.

Sasha's lips quirked. "Diagon Alley." He said. "Bourges and Burkes. It's on sale—for the right price."

"And why do you need my son?" Lucius asked.

"I can't fix it from here. Draco's one of the only people in Hogwarts I'd trust with this."

"What about Snape, surely he would not be better suited than the boy?" Mulciber suggested.

Sasha paused."I would trust Draco with this." He repeated. He then turned to Lucius. "I want you to owl your son and tell him to meet you in Hogsmeade when he next visits. Inform him that you will be bringing a companion with you but do not mention my name; if the wrong person gets their hands on such a letter, we'll be walking straight into an ambush."

"Our Lord has not yet said that he wishes to choose this means of entrance into Hogwarts. You would do well not to get ahead of yourself." Walden Macnair cautioned.

Raising his head slightly in defiance, Sasha looked down on Macnair from his higher standing position. "There can be no harm in having a backup plan at the very least." He replied. He left unsaid what he really wanted to say; the Dark Lord would be an idiot not to choose this means of infiltration.

Besides, he knew he didn't need to; Voldemort and he were so familiar with each other that Sasha knew the man would be eager to avail of a blind spot in Dumbledore's defence, undoubtedly an embarrassing blind spot at that. It was the temptation of humiliating Dumbledore that Voldemort would never be able to ignore.

"Sasha is an extension of myself." Voldemort announced, repeating what Sasha said to him a few weeks ago, "And any word that comes from his mouth is of great interest and value to me. He knows this and now you all do too. This means that you will all listen to him when he chooses to speak."

The room was silent, but the Dark Lord's words were understood perfectly.

"So you would choose infiltration, then?" Voldemort continued.

Sasha nodded. "And an attack on three fronts."

"You would go through the Forbidden Forest _and_ the lake also? Is that not stretching our forces thinly?" Rudolphus Lestrange asked.

"There won't be an issue with our numbers. We'll have more than enough."

"You said _three_ fronts. The forest and the lake are two." Barty said.

Sasha leaned over the map and pointed to a particularly uneven stretch of the red circle. "And here."

"That's the strongest part of the wards!" Yaxley exclaimed.

"Explain this to us." Lucius said.

"I don't need to." Sasha turned and looked to Voldemort, "That's the money spot." He said confidently.

Voldemort mused upon it for a moment. "Indeed, our access point." He muttered.

"I don't understand." Rabastan Lestrange said helplessly.

"You don't need to." Voldemort replied somewhat sharply, as if annoyed.

The Dark Lord stood up "Dismissed." He said, and then left the room. Sasha followed after him, matching his step.


	31. Chapter 30

_Hey guys,thanks for the reviews and favs for the last chapter. This one should be a bit more interesting; it's the beginning of the end. Everything's going to start building up to the climax soon, so there'll be loads of action coming up._

**Note:** _There will be slash in this chapter. Since its not a huge amount, I'm not going to bother editing it out and posting it on my livejournal but it'll be in italics so if people don't want to read it, just skim over it (it'll be in the second section). Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 30_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Snow drifted softly through the sky, descending at a graceful pace. Piling up on the ground the flakes accumulated into an even surface of pure, white carpet. In an atmosphere so peaceful and serene, Sasha's eyes slowly followed the snowflake's journey. It was a pleasant moment, one that Sasha was glad he was outside to experience.

Behind him was the hustle and bustle of the Three Broomsticks Inn, the clanking chairs and clinking glasses, the rowdy cheers and drunken hoots. It didn't appeal to him. Instead, the perfect snow called out to his sensibilities and Nature cooed happily at the pretty sight.

Peace, however, could not last forever and soon the snow was marred by passing people and their lingering footsteps. Sasha sighed and turned to enter the pub. Inside, he moved through the room, manoeuvring around shuffling bodies and unaware patrons till he found the table he was looking for.

"Iktsuarpok," a tall, handsome dark-skinned man said with a knowing smirk.

Sasha scowled. "What?"

"A word used by the Inuit people; it is the state of being where one is so excited by the arrival of a guest that one repeatedly goes outside to see if they have come."

Sasha resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead sat down on the free chair. Lucius Malfoy was intolerable, whether he was under a glamour or not. Turning his head away from the Death Eater, Sasha caught a glimpse of the window through the crowds of patrons. He stared steadfastly and ignored Lucius as the man stood up, left and then returned a few minutes later. Sasha didn't turn back around until an object was put into his hands. Looking down, he saw a butterbear in his grasp. Sasha didn't want any gifts from Lucius—even if it was only a drink. He wanted to be gone already, to be back with Voldemort and away from this place and Lucius Malfoy.

It was Saturday. They were waiting for Draco to meet them.

Sasha nodded in reluctant thanks.

Lucius leaned back in his chair and swirled his own drink, a firewhiskey, in the tumbler. Sasha brought his drink to his lips and tasted the sweetness of the butterbeer. Taking a mouthful, his eyes scanned the room, reassuring himself once more that no one recognised or was watching them.

He and Lucius were charmed, of course, but one couldn't be too careful, especially in these dark times.

"Your son is late." Sasha commented, taking another sip from the glass.

Lucius watched him with eyes half hooded in desire. "He will be here," Lucius assured him, "we have only arrived. You need to have some patience, young one; he will not be much longer. I must admit however, I cannot help but hope he gets delayed, I am enjoying the company."

Frowning, Sasha didn't respond. Lucius still hadn't given up his foolish hopes of courting him it seemed. "You should impress upon Draco the necessity of being on time," Sasha said instead.

Lucius leaned forward, moving close to Sasha, putting his firewhiskey onto the wooden table with a dull 'thump'. He was smirking.

"You're attempt at deflection was weak," Lucius said, "I cannot let my words be ignored and we cannot go on pretending there is nothing between us."

Sasha's eyes widened with indignation, "There is nothing between us. This fascination of yours, Lucius, is ridiculous." He said, "I want no part in your fantasies. What you're playing at is risky, stupid—and not to mention unwanted. I'm not interested in you Lucius, no matter how much you push your way into this dangerous game. You should stop before this goes further than you can handle. You... you have to stop this, Lucius."

Some of the humour left Lucius' face and in its place was stubborn determination. He was going to speak, to say something that he thought might change Sasha's opinion, but just then, the door to The Three Broomsticks opened and in stepped Draco Malfoy.

Because they were both glamoured; Lucius as a tall, handsome black man and Sasha as a shorter blond, Draco didn't immediately notice them. It didn't take long for Lucius' icy stare, glamoured or not, to get Draco to recognise his father.

Still, he approached a little hesitantly, unsure if he was right or not.

"Draco," Lucius greeted with a curt nod.

Between the greeting and the tone, Draco was assured that he had been correct. He nodded once. "Father," he replied and sat down on the free chair.

"Hello Draco," Sasha said.

Draco paused, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tried to figure out who was behind the blond hair and blue eyes. "Sasha?" He asked incredulously.

"Manners, Draco," Lucius chided gently.

Shamed, Draco looked down at his hands, "My Lord," Draco corrected himself meekly.

Already agitated by Lucius' interest in him, Sasha didn't have much time for the man's son. "You are needed by your master," He said.

Draco straightened in his chair, looking wide-eyed between Sasha and his father.

"The final battle will be in Hogwarts," Sasha said quietly.

Draco looked around in paranoia that someone might hear them. "We have put up privacy charms, Draco, no need to worry yourself." Lucius said to him.

Sasha looked from one to the other and then continued. "I hold you in high enough regard to know that you are capable of helping us infiltrate the school."

The blood drained from Draco's face with both terror and excitement. "Thank you, My Lord, but..." his fear came through then, "Hogwarts? You want to stage a battle in Hogwarts?"

"Hush, Draco," Lucius warned.

Sasha's eyes flickered to Lucius and then back. "It's the most logical progression to the plan," Sasha said, "that's all you need to know for now."

Draco nodded.

Sasha continued, "On the seventh floor corridor, hidden behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, is a room. It's called the Room of Requirements. To get in, you'll have to walk by it three times, thinking of what you most need."

Draco continued to nod. "What do I need?" He asked.

"It's called the vanishing cabinet. It's broken. Once you get into the room, it will be there waiting for you. In order for our plan to work, we're going to need you to fix it."

"This is a great honour, Draco," Lucius informed his son.

"Of course," Draco said quickly, "thank you, my Lord... but I don't know anything about fixing vanishing cabinets; I don't want to disappoint you—or the Dark Lord."

Sasha sat back momentarily, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat. He pulled out a small, rolled up parchment and handed it to Draco. "There are instructions in here that should work. If they don't, you will have to contact me through your father. I can research other solutions if that is the case."

"I won't let you down," Draco said breathlessly, his cheeks beginning to flush with the rush of feelings he had in relation to this. He was ever so flattered that Sasha had entrusted him with this task.

"Be sure that you don't," Sasha said, "the outcome of this war may very well rest on your shoulders."

Looking over at Draco, Sasha saw that the boy shook as he put the scroll into his robes. It softened him, somehow, "I have faith in your abilities, Draco; you're well capable of this."

The effect was immediate, Draco glowed with pride. "T-thank you, my Lord," he gasped with surprise. Sasha saw him glance over at Lucius to check his reaction. His father nodded in acknowledgement but gave little more than that. It was because of that lack of response that Draco composed himself again, clearing his throat.

Sasha stood up. "I'm sure you have things to discuss," he said to both of them, "I'll leave you to it."

He pushed himself away from the table without any further word. Sasha moved though the room and past the crowds, he made his way to the door and stepped outside to the refreshingly frigid air.

After taking a moment to breathe in the coolness, he blinked away the snow that fell in his eyes and moved away from the doorframe, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets.

Sasha knew he could just apparate away, but really, why not walk? It was pleasant out and he had no specific duties to attend to for the moment. He could take the time to enjoy a few minutes peace before getting back to it.

"Sasha." The voice wasn't overly loud, but Sasha couldn't help but tense and look around.

Lucius was striding up behind him. He didn't have his glamour up any longer and while there was no one around, Sasha cringed at both his name being called and the lack of protection the man was using.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sasha asked, furious.

All it would take was one person—just one—to hear the name, make mental jump and be on him in a second. Even if he wasn't jumped, he imagined that Dumbledore would somehow still find out about his presence here and set the school on high alert. That wasn't good either. Sasha's heart fluttered in fear as he thought about Voldemort's reaction to that scenario.

"Relax, there is no one here. I needed to get your attention before you left."

"No. You should be with your son, Lucius," Sasha said, turning on his heel.

Lucius reached forward and grabbed Sasha's arm. "I should be with you," Lucius told him with a terrible intensity, "my son waiting for me in the Three Broomsticks. I need to talk to you now, away from eager ears; it won't take long."

"I have nothing to discuss with you." Sasha replied with narrowed eyes. He shrugged out of Lucius hold, only to be grabbed again and pulled into the dark space between two buildings.

In an uncharacteristic brutishness, Lucius pushed him against the wall. He grasped the side of Sasha's face with both hands and tugged them into each other, meeting at the lips.

Sasha hadn't been prepared to ward off Lucius' tongue, so it entered his mouth without much resistance. Sheer surprise and confusion had Sasha motionless as Lucius tried his best to seduce him with his skills, using every sultry move he knew.

It was wrong. All wrong.

When Voldemort kissed him it was exciting and promising and arousing and the act in itself was something Sasha enjoyed and wanted to partake in. This wasn't like that. Lucius' tongue felt weird, alien and intrusive. An uncomfortable slimy, squelching feeling started to unfurl in his stomach and make its way up his throat. He wanted to start retching.

Snapping into his senses, Sasha grimaced and tried to move his head away, putting his hands on Lucius' chest and pushing. Lucius gave a valiant attempt at resistance, shoving his body into Sasha's own so that he could feel the man's arousal.

Sasha felt like gagging. It was too much for him to take. He snarled, a sudden anger taking over everything else at the thought of what Lucius was doing. He felt disgusted that Lucius would force his intentions upon him.

Summoning his strength and a little Shiran magic, Sasha pushed Lucius off of him, making the man stumble back to the other end of the passageway. He fell against the wall, looking startled and a little dishevelled.

Sasha snarled again, bringing his arm up and wiping his mouth in a violent refusal. "Bloody hell! Bloody...damn... Christ... hell!" he spat. Sasha knew he should have more composure, he_ knew_ it, but... ugh, he could still taste him... He wanted to wash his mouth, cast a cleaning spell—and a memory charm. He wanted to take a time turner and stop Lucius before he had acted because Sasha just felt so... so... powerless in that moment and he was angry.

Furious, even. And now, his fury was dominating his reactions.

"You idiot, you fool, you're a bloody fool." Sasha hissed in a full on rant, "Do you know what you've done? Do you have any idea what line you've crossed? Voldemort will have your _head_. You idiot. You're lucky _I'm_ not the one seeking vengeance on you.

"I tried to warn you away, I tried to tell you to stop, to keep your distance—and what do you do? This! To me. You stupid bloody idiot!" Sasha panted angrily and stepped away, running his hands through his hair furiously, his back to Lucius. He took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes as he willed his chest to stop its ridiculous heaving.

When he quietened himself, Sasha spoke in the calmest voice he could muster, "You're going to return to your son, Lucius. You're not going to tell him, or anyone else, what you've just done. You will never speak to me again unless it is strictly business. You will never approach me again and you will certainly never try _this_ again." Sasha turned back around.

Lucius was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Sasha continued, "Lucius." He used the man's name to ensure he was listening. "I'm serious about this. If you do not abide by these rules, I will be forced to tell the Dark Lord what you've done. I only barely managed to stop him from coming after you last time; he won't be swayed twice."

He was going to leave then, but Lucius spoke, "There is another option." he said, looking as cool and collected as ever.

Sasha made no move to react.

It didn't bother Lucius, he took a step forward. "We could continue," he suggested, "in private. The Dark Lord need never know. He see's you as nothing more than a possession. I dare say I would be a much more caring lover."

Narrowing his eyes, Sasha said, "Voldemort has never pushed me up against a wall and tried to force himself on me, Lucius."

Actually, that wasn't strictly true. There had been times when he found himself suddenly on the floor or propped up against a wall with Voldemort doing something devious to him. But that was a whole different thing; Sasha usually wanted, enjoyed and encouraged that sort of thing. Of course, Lucius didn't need to know that. It certainly wouldn't help prove his point.

"He doesn't care about you," Lucius tried once more, "he doesn't care about any of us; we're all just pawns to him. You're no exception."

"That doesn't matter. It's not about him caring; it's about me being loyal."

Lucius 'hmphed'. "What a foolish child you are." he muttered.

Sasha's shoulders tensed suddenly "Are you trying to say that you are not loyal, Lucius?"

Lucius pursed his lips. "No," he said after a pause, "I am not foolish enough to be loyal to a man that would see me dead to suit his own needs. I trust in his beliefs, I am loyal to his ideals. But I do not follow the man. If he was not the Dark Lord, I would not bother with him and you shouldn't either. Your personality blinds you to the logical conclusion that it is dangerous to place complete faith in a snake."

Taking an imploring step forward, Lucius held out his hands, as if to show his good intentions. "You should reconsider your allegiances, Sasha. The Dark Lord will only hurt you, use you, then throw you away for the vultures to pick at your remains. Do not let him bleed you dry. I would look after you, save you from that fate. Nothing good can come of aligning yourself so thoroughly with a man like our Lord."

Lucius' voice was soft and pleading. Sasha was reminded of the tactics someone would employ to a wary animal.

Lucius didn't understand. He couldn't grasp what the Voldemort had _already_ done for Sasha. He resisted the urge to place his hand on his chest and sense his beating heart. He could feel the air travelling through his lungs. He sensed the magic of Nature prickling his skin now and always, he heard her voice murmuring indistinguishable sentiments.

These things were all because of Voldemort.

After he had lost his connection with Nature on his last day in the orphanage, Sasha had wandered with a deep, incurable hollowness in his being. He had wandered through life as if constantly on the brink of exhaustion, despite rarely being near that state. His legs had been lead, his arms were dead weight. He had barely lived or experienced any semblance of life. Sasha had gone through the motions; eat, sleep, run away from attackers, avoid police or well meaning citizens and stay alive. Then repeat everything the next day.

But in that moment, when Sasha had seen Voldemort, a connection had been re-established. Sasha had begun to feel what he hadn't remembered he could. Blood rushed through his veins, air through his lungs, life through his being and that hollowness was banished.

Even though it had taken years for Voldemort to find him again, the Dark Lord had already awoken something inside. He had been alive since that first meeting. And if it was as Lucius claimed and Voldemort did not care for him, so what? If nothing else, Sasha could walk away and say that he had gained something from this whole ordeal.

Sasha, however, knew that Lucius was wrong.

There were a great many things Voldemort could have done over the years and hadn't, on account of Sasha and his wishes. Did the Dark Lord do that for Lucius? Or even for Bellatrix? No. He did not.

When Sasha spoke, it was with complete confidence that Lucius was wrong. "I am the same age as your son, Lucius," He said, "Even if I were to 'reconsider my allegiances', it would not be you I would turn to. Read my lips; I am not interested. I never will be. Take what I have said about this incident and keep it to yourself. As long as you keep your silence, I will make sure your head stays on your shoulders. Don't forget; you have a family that relies on you. Return to your son, Lucius, and forget about this before it's too late."

Sasha apparated away, leaving Lucius alone to reconsider his plans.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

_Sasha growled._

_He leaned down and traced the end of Voldemort's jaw with his bottom teeth, rocking his hips enthusiastically. Voldemort purred and ran his hands up and down Sasha's back, feeling each and every muscle._

_They were on the giant bed in Voldemort's personal chambers. The Dark Lord was lying on his back, half propped up by pillows with Sasha on top, impaled and deliciously eager._

_Voldemort had been practically jumped by Sasha when he entered his chambers. The Dark Lord had not seen Sasha so eager in a very long time and he could only guess as to the reason. He assumed it was somewhat akin to his own; the excitement from the advent battle, the last great fight between Light and Dark. It was the only reason he could guess for Sasha's enthusiastic heart beat._

_Even though he didn't need to, Voldemort raised his hand and splayed his fingers across his chest on the left side. He closed his eyes blissfully as he felt the beat through his the pads of his digits._

_Slowing to a stop, Sasha quirked his head to the side in questioning._

_Voldemort smirked and flipped both of them over so that he was on top. He mashed their mouths together. Delighted with the easy claiming, Voldemort thrust his hips forward and elicited a long, sexy moan from the writhing mess of limbs under him._

_They knew each other's bodies intimately. Sasha had information on the Dark Lord that no other living person did. Similarly Voldemort had the same knowledge on him. It was a scary and intoxicating feeling that both were affected by._

_A feeling that made Sasha arch into his master's body and wrap an arm around Voldemort's neck. He buried his face between his arm and the Dark Lord's throat._

_As Voldemort pounded into Sasha, the young Shira licked and nibbled at his throat, tracing the skin over the vein. Voldemort shuddered at the sensation, closing his eyes as his lip curled in pleasure._

_Breathing becoming deeper, Voldemort thrust harder, with more force, snapping his hips up and burying himself further into Sasha. Underneath the Dark Lord's weight, Sasha gasped and whined longingly for the peak of his mounting gratification._

_A few more well-placed thrusts and Sasha's body tensed as pleasure tore through him. He keened thinly and lay there panting as, seconds later; Voldemort stilled and signalled his own release with a satisfied groan._

After a quick cleaning spell was murmured, Voldemort rolled off of Sasha and onto his back, shuffling to prop himself up with the pillows.

Sasha took more time to compose himself, rolling and stretching languidly and giving a long, cat-like yawn. Voldemort eyed the body in front of him, splayed on leisurely on the bed. The sight got his blood pumping again—even so soon after the fact.

Finishing his stretch, Sasha eased himself into a sitting position, smacking his lips in satisfaction as he ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Careful, Sasha," Voldemort chided gently, "too much of that and you might have to suffer through another round."

Sasha looked over to the Dark Lord with a grin. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, "But, I'm afraid it's going to have to stay there for the moment." he added with a sigh.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Sasha stood up and moved away, cracking his back as he searched for his clothes that had been discarded somewhere unknown to him earlier. He had been paying attention to other things, and his mind certainly wasn't on placing his clothes in a quick or convenient place.

"Leaving so soon?" Voldemort questioned.

Finding his boxers, trousers and shirt, Sasha donned them leisurely, unperturbed by Voldemort's gaze on his back.

"Regrettably." Sasha sighed, "I told Bellatrix I would take over from her tonight. She's a better ward breaker than I am, but all this work is taking its toll on her."

Voldemort snorted disbelievingly. "She has not informed me of this."

A small smile appeared on Sasha's lips. "Nor me neither," Sasha agreed, "but she didn't need to; I can see it in her."

Voldemort scowled. "She does not appear fatigued to me."

"She hides it from you." Sasha told him, "She fears of failing you, disappointing you. Her devotion is admirable, but I don't want to see her exhausted for the upcoming battle. I can't imagine you do either."

Voldemort hummed. "Indeed not," he conceded, "...Although, I must admit I wouldn't mind chancing it for another hour with you."

Moving off of the bed, the Dark Lord approached his ward. Turning to meet him, Sasha looked up at his master. "I can't. I gave my word."

A pair of long hands cupped Sasha's cheek. He knew he would have to be strong, but he whined involuntarily when Voldemort's tongue flickered over Sasha's lips and pulled him into a deep, slow kiss.

Gently kneading Sasha's lips between his own, Voldemort reluctantly pulled away. Sasha groaned. His mind went to Lucius, of the feeling so different to those which Voldemort elicited.

He still felt sickened by Lucius' advances. Before the Dark Lord had returned, Sasha had thought about the event, mulled over it and had built it up in his head so much that his anger had almost gotten the better of him. He was upset by it, if he was being honest with himself and rather than cry about it, he had raged. So when Voldemort had come home, rather than do something regrettable and reveal what had happened, thereby signing Lucius' death, Sasha had done the only thing he could think of. He jumped the Dark Lord.

It was a welcomed move, apparently, because Voldemort had not been angry and had partaken quite enthusiastically. Sasha wondered what the Dark Lord thought his reasons were. Whatever it was, he was sure the truth remained a mystery.

After Lucius, Sasha needed to feel his master, needed to re-establish the connection and remind himself that beyond anything else, he was still Voldemort's servant. Sasha needed to get the taste of Lucius out of his mouth and memory. That was the real reason for his over-eager behaviour. He didn't regret it either; Sasha felt so much better now. He was happier, calmer, more grounded. He could think logically again.

"I won't be gone long," Sasha said softly, "just until sunrise. Barty's going to take over for me after that. I'll take you up on your offer then."

Voldemort looked like he wanted to sigh. Instead, he released his grip on Sasha's face and took a step back. "Very well then, go relieve Bellatrix. Return to me once you've done your good deed for today; I do not wish to be kept waiting for my ward to be at my side."

Sasha grinned, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Voldemort nodded and turned, walking away from Sasha, who disapparated from the room.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

It was raining softly, more of a wet mist than proper precipitation. But then, it _was_ Scotland after all—and the winter weather was hardly expected to be bright and balmy.

At least the midgets weren't flying around now with the dampness of the air. That was something, if nothing else.

Sitting on a rock—almost serenely—as if admiring the view from the high, rocky mountains was Bellatrix Lestrange. From behind, it appeared as if her hands were on her lap, Sasha however, knew that her wand was held outwards as she worked on the wards.

In front of them, miles away, Hogwarts stood proudly, dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of the Scottish country side. It was still an impressive sight to behold, but somehow Sasha found himself more impressed by the landscape then the stone building.

But then, of course he would; Sasha _was_ a Scion of Nature, after all and any appreciation for man-made structures was half-heresy. The ever present Nature murmured appreciatively in his ear, agreeing with him.

"Bella." Sasha said, approaching the female Death Eater.

There was a moment's delay. She was putting a place mark where she had finished working on the wards. Once she was satisfied, Bellatrix turned and grinned delightedly.

"Sasha!" She cried joyously, "I was wondering when you would show up."

"Sorry if I'm a little late." Sasha grinned sheepishly.

Tutting, Bellatrix sauntered over to Sasha with a dark humour flicking at her lips. "The Dark Lord has been keeping us busy, has he?" she asked slyly.

Sasha rolled his eyes. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Bella." he told her in a fake disapproving voice.

Bellatrix tittered and draped her arm around Sasha, pulling him over to where she had been seated at the edge of the mountain, a sudden drop going down for miles. "Soon, Sasha, soon that's going to be ours. A few days and we'll be dining in the Great Hall."

"I haven't heard you so excited since the last battle." Sasha replied chuckling.

She cackled hysterically. "I'm going to find that muggle loving Trelawney and make her scream for death."

Sasha didn't know why Bellatrix hated Sybil Trelawney so much, but for some reason, she had always held a grudge against the divinations professor. He couldn't fathom why though, as far as he could see, the two women hadn't spent any considerable time together and were not even in Hogwarts at the same stage. Yet Bellatrix swore an undying hatred to the thin, vulnerable-looking woman. In fact, she had often said that she would die happily as long as Sybil Trelawney didn't outlive her.

Whatever that was about.

"I have every faith in you that you will be the one to bring her down." Sasha said.

Bellatrix threw back her head and laughed. Her fingers dug into Sasha's shoulders as she did, nails creating an uncomfortable amount of pressure.

"Yes," Bellatrix sang in agreement, "I will. But we must wait, mustn't we? It is not yet time to act."

"Not until the wards are broken." Sasha agreed.

"They will be," Bellatrix promised, "soon. Barely any time left at all." she whispered as she removed herself from Sasha's shoulders and disaparated away from there.

Sasha shook his head and sat down on the rock, taking out his wand and rolling it in his hands before he sent magic out to the ward and began to work where Bellatrix left off.

This was where the Death Eaters would enter Hogwarts. This was where the wards were the strongest. It had taken days to even weaken them slightly. It would take more to weaken it enough that it would break with one strong shove.

It was tricky work, weakening these wards; they were complex and old and intertwined with other wards and alarms of every kind. Slowly, Sasha picked through them, untangling clusters and separating strands in a way that meant no one would suspect an attack.

Bellatrix was by far the most skilled within Voldemort's ranks, but she couldn't be worn down at this early stage. She would be needed soon, as would all of Voldemort's followers. In truth, that was the main reason why Sasha had not told the Dark Lord about the incident with Lucius in Hogsmeade. That, and the fact that Sasha didn't particularly want to see whatever stomach clenching torture Voldemort was bound to think up.

Sasha mentally berated himself for letting his thoughts wander while working. He shuffled in his position on the rock and frowned as he made himself concentrate.

He worked hours on the wards. It was so long that the first wisps of light were starting to appear on the horizon, just on the edge. There were still a few hours before Barty was supposed to take over from him when Sasha suddenly froze. It was the sensation at his throat, under his jaw that made Sasha hastily erect a place mark and come back to reality fully.

He was being held at wand point. Or at least he assumed he was, if the uncomfortable wand digging into his throat was anything to go by. Seconds ticked by with neither he nor his attacker moving. Slowly, Sasha weighted his options and gathered his courage.

He tried to turn; to see who it was that had snuck up on him so excellently. It was the wrong move, apparently.

He heard someone move close behind him. "Tut, tut." a dark voice whispered in his ear.

Sasha received a sharp blow to the back of his head. His world started to go black.

His last thought before falling unconscious was the indignation that he should be in Voldemort's bed at that moment.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies**

...

It was ten minutes past six.

Voldemort lounged in his bed, yawning lazily as he figured it was about time for Sasha to return. He had to admit, he was slightly put off that Sasha had chosen to leave him—even if it was for the war effort. When Sasha returned, he was going to make up for lost time. Frankly, he figured he was probably going to take interest on the payment.

He was just waiting for the boy to make it back. Any minute now.

A knock on the door had Voldemort smile.

"My Lord?"

The voice had his lips turn into a frown. That was not Sasha; that was Barty Crouch. Why was he here and not Sasha? He threw his legs off the bed and swiftly pulled on a pair of trousers and his outer robes. Hurrying over to the fireplace, he posed as if he had been deep in thought and not lazing in bed.

"Enter." he commanded.

Barty Crouch did as commanded, opening the door slowly, looking pale and scared. "My Lord." he said again.

"Why are you here, Barty?"

Barty didn't answer immediately. He shook as he bowed down in front of his master. On his knees, Barty took out something from his pocket and presented it to Voldemort. "I found this when I went to take over for Sasha." he paused, "I found _only_ this."

Voldemort stiffened; a sudden chill broke throughout his body. Sasha wouldn't leave his post, he wouldn't leave his wand. With trembling fingers, Voldemort plucked the maple wood wand from his servant's hands.

"Leave." he commanded harshly.

Barty quickly complied, leaving the room with an impressive speed.

Voldemort barely had the presence of mind to wait for the door to close before he numbly dropped to the nearest chair, gazing down at the wand in his hands. Brother to his own, the wand warmed his fingers, whispering a magical signature that was undeniably Sasha.

Sasha...

He wouldn't leave his post. He wouldn't leave his wand. There was only one explanation. Sasha had been taken. There would have been a body, some sign of a fight if he was dead. He wasn't dead. Voldemort knew he was still alive, but where and what state was he in?

The Dark Lord tried to keep the mesh of fury and worry from reaching up his throat and claiming his sanity.

Sasha wouldn't be caught out by any normal wizard. No one, as far as Voldemort could remember, was able to take the boy by surprise. Even as a younger child, Sasha had been alert, ready, even if he was entirely engrossed in something. Breaking a ward, no matter how old or complex was not something that would cause Sasha to totally disregard his surroundings.

Not even Dumbledore had managed to take him by surprise in the Death Chamber.

Whoever it was, must have been an extremely skilled person.

That did not bode well.

Not at all.

Voldemort rolled the wand in his hands, trying to think rationally, trying not to fly into a rage and destroy everything he had been planning.

But Merlin was it difficult.

Dumbledore.

He had to be behind this. Had to be. Even if it hadn't been the man himself that captured Sasha, he was the only person who would want to. A snarl rose on his lips. Dumbledore. It always ended up with Dumbledore. But he hadn't managed an ambush in the ministry and he wouldn't manage it now. That meant he had someone else, someone exceptional in his ranks. None of Dumbledore's Order were good enough for that.

There was someone else. Someone that he and the rest of the Dark had missed. That knowledge in itself had rage tighten its fist around his heart.

He would kill them.

He would ruin them.

He would destroy the Light, wipe them from the face of the earth and obliterate any memory of them.

How dare they target his servant? He would make them pay.

He would attack Hogwarts. Soon. But not now. It was still too early. With no evidence of what was happening to Sasha, Voldemort could even say for sure that it would help his ward any. Even in his anger, Voldemort could see the need for rational thought.

Oh, but when he had his chance, Dumbledore would regret everything.

Voldemort just had to figure out what was going on and where they had taken Sasha.

But, Severus Snape was his servant, was he not?

The man was a spy for him. He would inform Voldemort of the situation. Then the Dark Lord could rein down vengeance on the Light once and for all.

Voldemort sent an urgent, searing message through the Dark Mark, ordering Serverus to his side.

Until his servant arrived, Voldemort would plan. He would take deep breaths and he would fantasise about all the ways Dumbledore would suffer.

Then, if he had the time, he would allow himself to worry for Sasha's safety.

* * *

><p><em>Hope you enjoyed it!<em>

_To 'A '(reviewer): thanks for the review! Yup, Diana's going to have a role later on (but it won't be huge), so she's not out of the story yet but don't expect to see her too much. Also, about Sasha; you're right, he's been quite composed the last few chapters. I did that for contrast because it's all about to change soon. He's going to have his fair share of struggling, so you'll get to see him suffer in the next few chapters ;)._


	32. Chapter 31

Phew, after a long absence I'm finally back. This chapter was a tricky one to write but I've finally managed to finish it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and enjoy this one! I should warn you though, it's a long one!

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Chapter 31_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

It was a 'drip, drip, drip' that woke him up.

That bloody, damned sound of water 'pinging' onto a metal object rang through his head and elicited a grimace from his features. It pulled him back into the land of the living.

The memory of what had happened suddenly came back to him and he was left with a cold, hollow feeling. Who had done this to him? Who had snuck up to him and knocked him out? It was a cowardly thing to do. But who was the culprit?

Sasha sneakily sent out his senses to see if there was any one else in the room. The reading came back negative, but his head was fuzzy and he suspected that he could not hold enough attention to properly know. As it was, he could barely even hear Nature. She seemed quiet, pensive, distant, any sounds she made seemed far away and dampened like words whispered in the fog.

Sasha creaked open an eye and slowly raised his head. He was alone. Looking around, Sasha saw for the first time where he had been taken. It was a small room with wooden floors and walls. It appeared to be some sort of shed. A garden shed. Bigger than perhaps the average one down the back of the average muggle's garden but Sasha recognised the style. It made him frown. There was a single window to his left that may have given some clue as to his location had it not been boarded up. Inside, there was only Sasha, a door in front of him and a rickety table that had a tub of dried ink and a dusty quill on top. There was also a metal pan in the corner placed strategically under a crack in the ceiling, dripping with water.

Looking down, Sasha scowled. He was in a chair, each hand tied to the armrests with a flimsy piece of rope, easily breakable. There was a strange symbol, painted black on the back of his hands. He tried to snap the rope but his hands did not move. They felt heavy, numb. Sasha's heart thumped in fear. Trying again, the effect was the same. He took a long, shaky breath and focused on his fingers.

"Move." he muttered as he concentrated with all his might.

Slowly, his fingers twitched. It had taken more effort than he would have liked and he didn't foresee any improvement in his abilities. Studying the symbols on his hands, a circle shape with mysterious characters written inside, Sasha began to recognise it. Lily Potter had used it on Paveh only days ago. It kept Shira bound. This circle wasn't exactly the same as the one Paveh had been trapped in, but it was similar. Sasha reckoned it was modified to hold not a Shira but a Scion. That meant whoever had captured him knew exactly what he was.

Sasha's stomach dropped and he swallowed harshly.

Trying to keep his nerves down, Sasha looked around for a way out and, tugging at his bonds, found none. At least his feet weren't bound; he could move them easily enough.

The sound of the door unlocking had Sasha looked up, half terrified.

It seemed to take forever for the door to open and when it did; Sasha frowned at who walked in. "James Potter?" he asked, unimpressed.

"You're awake."James said, in a strangely distant voice.

Sasha could have laughed; he had been so scared, so stupidly scared stiff at what was going to come through that door and it ended up being James-bloody-Potter. The Gryffindor golden boy, the Light's apple pie warrior. Sasha felt a flood of relief. If it was only James Potter, he had nothing to worry about. They couldn't touch him. They had ethics, morals, they wouldn't be able to do any dirty tricks, and even if they did, Sasha wasn't human; they couldn't do any lasting damage.

But as James walked further into the room, Sasha caught a glimpse at the marks on his own hands. James wouldn't be able to create binding marks that complex; he was neither knowledgeable nor strong enough. And there was no way he would have been able to sneak up on Sasha; James walked like an elephant dragging his heels and Sasha would have heard. And that voice, the one that whispered in his ear... that was not James.

Suddenly Sasha didn't feel so relieved. James was working with someone. Someone who knew more than they should.

"Why am I here?" Sasha asked, feeling that it was best to ask questions now before James' accomplice arrived.

James glanced at him, but did not speak. Slowly, he walked over to the table beside Sasha and started to undo his cuffs, dropping the cufflinks onto the surface with a dull clunk. At an agonising pace, James rolled up his sleeves.

"Why am I here?" Sasha asked again, this time more harshly.

James took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "You'll pay for what you've done." he said.

"And what is it that you think I've done?"

Eyes flashing angrily, James' lip curled upwards. "You took her away from me."

Sasha frowned. "Who? Lily? I didn't do anything to her."

"Yes, yes you did; you..."at this, James' voice cracked, "She's bewitched by you."

"Look, I don't know what you think I've done, but I've only met Lily that one time and I didn't have _time _to bewitch her—even if I had wanted to."

James banged his fist down on the table. The wood bounced. Sasha grimaced. "I know! I-I know you're her son! They told me. They told me everything."

James spun on his heel, rubbing his face. His shoulders hunched and shaking. "She cheated on me." he gasped. "She cheated on me with _him_—your _father_."

Sasha watched James silently. So he _did_ know everything. "Did Lily tell you?" he asked eventually.

James shook his head, back still turned to him. "Dumbledore."

Sasha wanted to ask how Dumbledore knew, but he didn't. He figured he wouldn't get the answer anyway. Instead he said, "I'm sorry you had to find out that way."

"No, you're not." James said. There was hatred in his voice. Slowly, James' head rose and he turned around. "You're not sorry. Not sorry at all. You're just trying to manipulate me. That's what your kind does; they told me so."

"They?" Sasha said beneath his breath. Who were 'they'?

James pressed a hand to his forehead. He looked like he was in physical pain. "You're trying to confuse me, win me over, make me turn—like you made Lily turn. You're trying to escape and you want to use me as a tool for it. Don't think I don't know what you're up to. They said you'd try something like that. _He_ said you'd try anything to get your way... But you won't, because your tricks won't work on me. You won't be able to manipulate me like that beast, your father, did to Lily. I won't let her honour go un-avenged."

Sasha quirked his head to the side. "I'm not sure I follow you." He said carefully.

James was acting strange. Yes he was hurt, yes he was angry—and Sasha would expect him to be so—but this was not what he would have expected. This was... un-James-like. He seemed broken somehow, damaged, like he wasn't fully in control. Sasha frowned and decided to watch the man warily.

Making a strange, strangled noise in the back of his throat, James charged forward and grabbed Sasha by the collar, "Shut up," he said, "just shut your mouth for two _minutes_!"

He let go of Sasha and spun away, pacing. He was ranting now, "I hate you," he said, "I hate you and your kind. I hate every goddamn one of you. I'm going to kill you. I'll make you pay for your father's sins. I'll make sure he knows it too; I'll send him your head. I'll even wrap it up. I'll present it to him before I tear his heart out."

Sasha listened silently, unnerved by both the threat and the level at which James wasn't acting like himself. Worried, he could think of nothing to say, nothing to do. So he did nothing.

James spat. "I can see him in you; your father." he said, suddenly addressing Sasha once more. Sasha flinched at the attention.

"Look, James..."

James was in front of him again. He lifted his arm and backhanded Sasha across the face. Surprised, Sasha gasped, blinking at the pain. James growled and went for him again, punching him this time in the gut and then twice more. Coughing, Sasha could do nothing but take it; he couldn't move an inch, not even shift. He tried though, he tugged at his bonds with all his might, but the magic was too strong and his hands stayed limp on the armrests.

Hand shooting out, James grabbed Sasha's throat and pulled him as far forward as the bonds would allow. They were face to face, inches from each other. Sasha felt winded but tried to hide his discomfort, sneering into the face of his captor.

James hissed and his grip tightened. "I'm gonna—"

"James!"

Dumbledore.

James' hand dropped from Sasha neck. He breathed in relief. Sasha never thought he'd be glad to see Albus Dumbledore walk into a room.

"What are you doing?" Dumbledore demanded. He sounded shocked, horrified, as he looked upon the wheezing Sasha.

James seemed lost for words. "I—I..."

"He's treating the prisoner as he should be treated."

Sasha froze at the voice. He recognised it.

"_Tut, tut." _

It was the man who had snuck up on him.

Looking over Dumbledore's shoulder, Sasha saw the dark figure come into view. As he stepped further into the light, he could get a proper look at the man's features. Sasha swallowed hard.

The man was tall, a dirty blond mop atop of his head and blue eyes that were so pale they could have been white. His skin looked yellow and unhealthy, like a smoker, dying from some related respiratory disease. Sasha didn't recognise him, but something within him sung of Kin. This man was Shira. Narrowing his eyes, Sasha watched the man through a foggy head.

"James, that's enough." Dumbledore was saying.

Sasha's attention was the Shira.

"I have every right!" James was shouting.

The Shira locked eyes with him and smirked.

"He's just a child."

Sasha looked questioningly at the Shira.

"He's not even human!"

The Shira shook his head, smirking evilly.

"..That's not the point..."

Sasha swallowed and worked up the nerve to speak. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice rising over and interrupting James' and Dumbledore's argument. "I'm not Rogue, you've no reason to be here. Why are you here?"

Sasha had hoped it was a Shira who had not gotten the memo that he was legit now. He had hoped it was all just a misunderstanding. Deep down, though, Sasha suspected it wasn't.

His suspicions were proven once he saw the Shira's smirk rise. "I know you're not Rogue. I know all about you, Scion." He sauntered further into the room.

Nature quivered and shook; she retreated deeper into Sasha's mind. Moments later, Sasha understood why. He didn't know why it took him so long to notice it, a darkness surround the man, dark power vibrated in the air around him. And Sasha suddenly knew who he was.

"You're the traitor."

The Shira twitched.

"Traitor?" The man whispered fiercely, "I'm no traitor. I am just sick of being the lap dog of a thankless god. Throwing my life away, slaving, for the sake of a nothing deity? No, I'm no traitor; I am a... revolutionary. I'm throwing off the chains of servitude and walking into a new dawn as a free man."

"Revolutionary." Sasha repeated slowly. He had to struggle to hide the disbelief and the disgust from his voice. It had been Sasha's experience that no one who claimed a 'revolutionary' status had a good outcome. Revolution was a tricky business and, for the most part, nothing more than bed news.

Dumbledore stepped forward, looking concerned. "Sasha, we have brought you here to give you one last chance to renounce Voldemort and remove yourself from his grasp. It's not too late. We can still pardon your actions. Just please see reason."

The Shira laughed before Sasha could reply. "You still don't understand at all; the boy _can't_ renounce his master—even if he wanted to, he is bound to him in more than just ideals. Biologically, they are connected. They have _imprinted_." He said the last word as if he was disgusted, as if the mere thought of being bound to another being was so foreign to him. And Sasha said as much.

"You're one to speak," Sasha sneered, "haven't you imprinted on another master? What makes you any better than me?"

The man took a threatening step forward. Dumbledore acted with surprising efficiency. He put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Galor..." he muttered admonishingly.

Galor froze at the use of his name and snarled. Sasha too, stilled; he knew that name... but from where?

Galor whipped around furiously. "_Do not_ use my name!"

Sasha knew that name, it repeated in his ears like an echo reverberating around a cave. As he mulled over the name, his lips ghosted over the letters. Galor. Someone had told him. Someone had talked about him. Galor.

Furrowing a brow, Sasha muttered, "Galor," he said, "Galor Palun?"

Galor Palun stopped snarling at Dumbledore and turned to Sasha, a strange look on his face, similar to curiosity but a bit too dark and sinister for that.

Assured by the reaction, Sasha now knew beyond his lingering doubt that this was in fact Galor Palun. The moment of triumph at his remembering the name soon passed, however, and a frigid chill crackled through his body. "Galor Palun." he repeated coldly, "My father's most loved and trusted friend."

The betrayal hit him as suddenly, and as awfully as if it was him and not his father who had been wronged.

Paveh had spoken of this man, this Shira. Galor Palun. Only a little older than Paveh himself, Galor and he had been friends for as long as anyone could remember. They were inseparable as youths. They shared everything and spent all of their free time together. All three of them; Paveh, Galor and Navaa. They were the only children of that generation.

Sasha couldn't remember the amount of times his father had reminisced upon tales of his childhood. The fondness in his voice had not made suggestions of anything but utter joy. Either Paveh's memories were twisted or something had changed drastically at some point.

Galor narrowed his eyes and had the gall to look disgruntled and quite a bit irritated.

"You _bastard_." Sasha said before Galor could speak, "You traitor. You pathetic, bloody traitor! Do you have any idea what this will do to Paveh? To Navaa? The Elders? It'll kill them. But what do you care anyway, you selfish prick! You've hurt them all for what? For an alliance with _Dumbledore_ and his lackeys? Why? Why stoop so low? Why become a servant of a mere man when you had a god? What could you possibly be _thinking_? You idiot."

Galor growled and backhanded Sasha across the jaw in a sudden rage. The force of the blow made Sasha's neck snap to the side. It was worse than the hit given to him by James. It felt like being hit by a car. Sasha snarled back at Galor as his face throbbed painfully. He thought it might have expanded to two or three times the size of a healthy visage. Stiffly moving his jaw, Sasha made sure it was still in one piece. It was, thankfully, but it hurt like hell. Still, Galor's aggressive move against him did not quell the fury he felt on his father's behalf for the betrayal. It did, however, make him bite his tongue and take a moment to observe before he had anymore outbursts. It wouldn't do for him to get all worked up; he could reveal something delicate.

His eyes glided over Galor, Dumbledore and James.

Dumbledore seemed a little distressed that Galor had taken a physical action against him. James was looking on with something akin to satisfaction. Galor was still furious.

Licking the blood from his lips, Sasha realised that he would have to find out why he was brought here—aside from the obvious, of course. Galor Palun was a traitor though, one that had gone out of his way to capture Sasha. There must have been some reason. Equally, there was a reason why the man had sided with Dumbledore. Sasha knew that somehow it wasn't because they shared the same ideals.

Diari Vehgal had told him that it was probably greed that dictated the man's actions. She said that she had suspicions about his motives but could never say for sure what it was. Sasha didn't know if he was going to get out of this alive, but if he did, it would be good to know.

Scrap that. Sasha _had_ to live. He _had_ to tell the Shira that Galor Palun was the culprit.

"What do you want from me?" He asked tiredly.

It was Dumbledore that answered, "We were hoping to get you to reconsider your allegiances."

Sasha looked at him with a level gaze. "We've already established that is not possible," he glanced over at Galor and then back again, "You must have known I would not change sides. Tell me what your plan was."

"You're too dangerous to let free," James Potter said from the back of the room, "and we don't have Azkaban anymore either."

Sasha knew what the man was hinting at. They wanted him dead.

"But you want answers from me first, right?" Sasha said, "That's why I'm sitting here now and not some mangled corpse."

The silence in the room was answer enough for Sasha to know that it was true. "You've wasted your time," he said softly, "I'll never tell you anything."

"We won't torture a child." James said, "A _veritaserum _should do the trick. We're just waiting for it to be delivered now."

Sasha lowered his eyes. "By Severus Snape, no doubt." He said.

There was a certain hesitation in the room before Dumbledore answered with a sigh. "Yes."

Sasha had always suspected. Snape was just a little too good at what he did for him to be worthy of any great trust. He was as likely to be working for Voldemort as against him. Fifty-fifty. But Voldemort's side of the coin was face down. Dumbledore had control of the board in this instance.

"Voldemort doesn't tell me anything." Sasha said, "You might as well just kill me now and not waste your time."

It wasn't true, of course; Voldemort told him practically everything. Occasionally he left a detail or two out, but it was Sasha who stood beside him when the man was scheming. Voldemort had personally tutored Sasha in strategy and battle plans and although Sasha was still no master at it, he understood the Dark Lord's way of thinking. He knew what was likely to happen.

That meant that Sasha had an awful lot of information on his master and Sasha wasn't altogether sure he could resist a _veritaserum._ He was stuck in a hard position. But with the circles on his hands, he wasn't going anywhere, he couldn't do anything.

A suddenly panicked worm squirmed in his chest as he thought that this might be 'it'.

This could be the day he died.

Had it only been Dumbledore and his order, Sasha wouldn't have worried; the man would not be able to kill. Hurt him, yes certainly, but not kill. With Galor Palun though, an ancient, powerful Shira... Even an immortal could die by the hands of another. Sasha was too vulnerable there.

"Don't listen to the boy," Galor said, "He would protect his master even if it meant his death. The only way to get to get the truth is through the _veritaserum_."

Sasha glared at the man spitefully. Nature hissed in his ear, her voice hateful and harsh. She was furious at the traitorous Shira. Strangely, her spitting curses, incomprehensible to Sasha's ears, reminded him of Lily Potter. He felt a strange pang in his chest at the thought of her, but he wasn't sure why.

Silence fell upon the room and lingered there.

Looking down at his hands, Sasha's eyes traced over the symbols painted upon them. If he concentrated, he could feel a very slight burning sensation where his skin was covered.

"We do not need to resort to such terrible means." Dumbledore said, breaking the silence, "Please, just give us the information we need. Anything at all."

"I cannot. And I will not." Sasha replied stoically, not moving his eyes from his hands.

"Can't see why You-Know-Who bothers with this kid." James Potter said from the corner, "Doesn't seem to be anything but a spineless child to me. Too afraid of his _master_ to act on his own."

Sasha looked at James but didn't speak.

James moved forward, advancing threateningly. "You must have other _qualities_ that would make him want you then." He gave Sasha a look, blatant and obvious, as his eyes rolled down the Scion's body and then back up to his face that Sasha flinched.

It was a greedy look, lustful almost, though somehow in the way of a man channelling another, as if somehow James had become Voldemort for that one moment. Then it was gone again and James was himself, but the implication was still there and it unsettled Sasha deeply. More than that, it made him angry.

"That's not—"

James interrupted Sasha's denial. "Tell me. Is he attracted to young boys, aroused by the power he holds over them?" He stepped right into Sasha's space and grabbed him by the jaw. "Do you stare up at him with those pretty green eyes of yours as he pounds into you? Do you moan and writhe and pant under him like a good little bed fellow, delighting in his domination of you?"

"James, stop this." Dumbledore ordered sternly.

Wrenching his head out of James' grasp, Sasha snarled. "You don't know anything."

Galor snorted. "Doesn't he?" he asked Sasha before turning to James, "The boy has such delusions of grandeur, James. He is nothing more than a street rat, a survivor from a ruined orphanage. He's probably been sleeping his way up the ranks for years."

James smirked and huffed an amused breath, moving to lean against the back wall. Dumbledore watched him unhappily.

Sasha knew what they were doing, trying to coax him into anger, make him explode and tell them of his real status within Voldemort's ranks. Despite knowing this, Sasha felt the rage rise up his throat and threaten to choke him if he didn't act upon it.

It was Nature's voice that calmed him and whispered that there was more to Galor's last statement. There was something more to what Galor had said. More.

Sasha froze, realising what it was. "How do you know that?" he breathed. The orphanage had been destroyed. But no one knew that. Paveh didn't. Lily didn't. No one knew that. They knew he had lived on the streets but not that his orphanage had been destroyed. He hadn't gone into the details, hadn't told a soul. Sasha hadn't even remembered himself until recently.

"You couldn't have known that..." Sasha's voice trailed off.

How did Galor know that? Sasha remembered his last conversation with Lily.

"_It seems a little bit...coincidental, that it all happened, doesn't it?"_

_Lily nodded. "I sometimes thought it was strange. Looking back now, I can't even believe I gave you up; I didn't want to, I would have rather died instead. But they were different times, I suppose. We were all so frightened; perhaps that was just enough to make me think it would be alright."_

"_But what about the orphanage?" Sasha pressed, "How often do clerical errors happen like that? How many orphanages get burned down and children go missing? Even the fact that I survived as just a baby seems strange when so many other children died. It's strange, that's all..."_

Sasha looked down at his hands as he spoke. "It was suspicious... If one thing had happened differently; if Lily hadn't let me go, if there hadn't been a clerical error, or a fire, or I hadn't been sent to _that_ specific orphanage or even run away from it. If any of those things hadn't happened, I wouldn't be here today.

"I always thought it was suspicious—just a little too farfetched to be a coincidence—because it wasn't; it was you." Sasha looked up at Galor. "You did it—all of it. Every. Single. Thing. Everything that has gone wrong in my life has been because of you. Why? What part I am supposed to be playing in this scheme of yours?"

Galor started laughing. It was a shocking sound; bitter and desperate and genuinely amused all in one. "You are your father's son." he told Sasha. It was not a compliment. "He always foiled my plans too. Not that he knew, of course; he would walk into a room and the sun would shine on him. The planets aligned for Paveh Drux. He was always charmed, always brilliant, always a little beyond everyone else's grasp. The golden one.

"You, it seems, picked up a portion of his traits. Had you been anyone else, you would have died in that fire or in that other orphanage. But you are Paveh's son, and you did not die and I thought maybe... just maybe, I could use you; you were growing up so perfectly alone. Even a father would be forced to kill his son if that child were Rogue—and that would shake anyone's beliefs to the core. It would create doubt in his mind, make him question his master."

"And with the right coaxing, he would rebel." Sasha finished, understanding Galor's plans if not the reasons for them "But I am not Rogue."

"No, you are your father's son. And a Scion of all things. And I could not use you for even that."

Sasha closed his eyes tiredly. "So what now? What do you intend for me now?"

A sinister grin lifted Galor's lips. "I intend for you to die." he told Sasha gleefully.

Sasha knew that. Or at least he should have expected that answer. It still made his heart beat a little faster though, a squirming worm of panic squeezing through his ventricles.

"After you get your answers, of course." Sasha muttered with a nod.

Sasha still couldn't figure out _why_ though. A Shira and a Light Lord did not seem like a logical combination. He knew it didn't matter, but still, it gave him something to think about. It kept his head of both his oncoming betrayal and his death.

Stiffening in the chair, Sasha frowned.

What was with him today? He had never been one to give up before, why would he start now? He was a fighter, a survivor; he didn't get to have the luxury of giving up. He _refused_ to betray Voldemort and he _refused_ to die. Dumbledore's plans be damned; he was Shira, a Scion of Nature. Screw the old man. Screw Galor Palun too, while he was at it. And James, since he played some part in it.

With a determined crease on his brow, Sasha looked around again, this time with purpose, trying to find something that might aid him in his escape. Nature murmured eagerly in his ear, assuring him that it would be alright. He knew it would—somehow. He just wasn't sure how.

Damn, he hoped Snape got delayed.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies**

****...

Unknown to Sasha, not that far away, Severus Snape was, in fact, being delayed.

"Lily..." He sighed mournfully.

Lily Potter was not put off by the man's tone; in fact, it made her even more determined. She pulled a smile from her lips, making it sultry and seductive and not at all like the desperation and terror she felt.

There had never been much between them, her and Snape, only far off admiration and painful yearnings on Severus' part. They had never been involved in any romantic way, save for harmless school-child affection. Even still, Lily knew the power a woman could hold over a man—and despite there having been nothing physical between them, she could make him imagine it, yearn for it, taste it, as if it were a pleasant memory. One that he would be eager for again.

She didn't usually make a habit of getting what she wanted from seduction, but she knew she looked like and she knew what Severus felt for her and she knew _they_ had her son. She had a good body, a sharp mind and she knew how to use both. It would be a sin to use one and not the other, right? She certainly thought so. For her son anyway. If it was for Sasha, she would do anything and not think twice.

"Severus..." she breathed wistfully, drooping her eyes and moving in close. Their bodies weren't touching, but Lily knew he could feel the heat coming from her.

"Lily." He said again, this time the word was half hidden in a long, reluctant groan. She couldn't be doing this to him, she just couldn't. It was so close—too close—to what he had imagined. He couldn't deal with it. But he couldn't move away; to step back would have him against the wall, and to move past her would involve physical contact, something he didn't think he could recover from right now.

Hand moving from her side, it ghosted over Snape's chest and up his neck, resting in the air barely an inch from his jaw. "Please, Severus." She leaned in closer, her lips trembling in front of his but still not touching.

Snape closed his eyes and swallowed with a hard gulp. "Don't do this to me, Lily. I-I can't..." Oh Merlin, he had stuttered. He hadn't stuttered in years. Snape had thought he was past that sort of thing. Yet these circumstances were extraordinary and even he couldn't manage to scold himself.

Lily's hand made contact with the bare skin of his jaw just as her lips were taken away with a bow of her head.

Snape wanted to whimper at the sudden loss of almost-contact. But no. He would be strong. He was a man. Men didn't whimper. Not even when there was a beautiful woman, _the_ beautiful woman that governed most of his adult life's thoughts, standing in front of him, ready and willing—and disappointed he wasn't.

"Lily." He dared to whisper again; because he loved hearing himself say it in this context and he wished the purity and virtue of the woman would give him the strength to resist. He had used her name many times to gather strength; when lying to Voldemort, or going into battle, or even when an experiment of his didn't work out. He had never used it in this circumstance though—and he certainly never thought he'd be using it against _her_.

As much as he hated to admit it, Lily was James' wife. She had the evidence of it on her finger... where the mark of her missing wedding ring still lingered.

Snape frowned. She wasn't wearing her ring? Even when they fought, Lily didn't take off her ring. What had happened? Were they broken up? Was Lily hurting and wanting him as a rebound? Had she finally realised he was best for her? Was this his time? Or was it something else?

The mystery gave Snape momentary clarity from his hazy state of temptation. Suddenly, his sharp mind picked out what was going on.

"He isn't your son, Lily." He told her.

Lily's body stiffened to a frightening degree for half a second before easing back into her overly relaxed pose. Her head rose slowly and her eyes and lips showed a teasing denial.

"Is _that_ what you think this is about?" Lily asked with a breathy laugh. She sounded like a true actress, tempting a director to give her the main part. "Silly... this isn't about that at all; this is about you... and me... and..."

She reached up and curled her hand around Snape's neck, gently bringing it down so she could bring her lips up to his ear. "_Stupefy_." she whispered in a confusingly sweet voice.

So distracted, Snape hit the floor before he knew what had happened. He hadn't seen Lily take out her wand and point it at his stomach as she touched his neck. He hadn't even felt it press up against his robes as she whispered the spell.

If Snape had been conscious, he would have felt a grudging admiration for Lily's tactics. As it was, he wasn't feeling much of anything.

Lily looked down at the prone figure of Severus Snape. "I'm sorry, Severus," Lily said, crouching down and brushing a stray hair from his face. "There's just some things that are more important than us."

She reached into his cloak and took out the _veritaserum_, throwing it across the room and smashing it on the floor. She turned and pointed her wand at Snape's forehead.

"_Legilimins_." she said.

She would be the first person in many years to access Snape's mind. He was usually so guarded that not even the Dark Lord himself could break through. But unconscious? A lamb for the slaughter. Particularly because Severus' subconscious knew her, welcomed her, yearned for her.

Lily would be gentle though, he _was_ her friend after all, and she didn't really want to hurt him. She just needed to know where her son was. In and out in one quick swoop and everything would be fine. Snape would wake up in an hour or two, no harm, no memory, no hard feelings. And Lily would be with her son, somewhere or other, doing something or other without Snape or James or Dumbledore or that creepy cloaked man to get in their way.

Rifling through his perfectly ordered thoughts, Lily found what she was looking for. Inside the memory she took a good look around. She stayed there for as long as she needed to familiarise herself with the layout and the look. By the time she was done, she knew she would be able to apparate in and out easily enough.

An anti-apparition charm had not been set up. She didn't know why but Snape had been told to apparate in and that was all the information she needed to know.

Standing up and taking a step away from Snape, Lily tightened the grip on her wand and took a deep breath before imagining the destination in her mind and disapparating with a loud 'crack'.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha bowed his head.

Stopping his attempts to find an escape, he listened as Nature spoke in his ear with hushed whispers.

He couldn't understand her; she spoke too fast, too hushed, but he felt her nervous energy, her eager mien. She was expecting something to happen; that much Sasha could understand, but what, he didn't know.

Her voice changed, turning stern and worried, giving him advice or warning, but Sasha wasn't sure what for. He thought that it may have been the circles on his hands, dulling Nature's connection with him so that he could barely hear her whispers. It was frustrating to be so close and yet so far from her.

Sasha knew one thing for sure though; he would not be able to rely on Nature this time. This was something he was going to help himself with.

Head still bowed, Sasha spoke to the quiet room. "I once heard of a story," he dared recall, "of a woman, forced to give up her child. Take it away and put it somewhere safe, somewhere far from her and her better judgement, her common sense... her motherly instinct. A powerful thing, is it not; the ability of persuasion?"

Having said what he felt he needed to, Sasha looked up at the faces around him. Two were confused, one—Galor—narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Sasha continued. "You see, there are myths, you know, of creatures that hide in the darkness. Myths that say they change things; _persuade_ people to act in ways they wouldn't have otherwise." he paused, "Paveh never had that ability; doesn't run in the family—I don't have it either. But some do. _You_ do." he accused Galor.

He wasn't even sure if that was what happened, if Galor had been behind it; he certainly had no evidence to prove it. But something deep down, deeper than even Nature, told him this was true. And he could almost see it. Almost see the man work his magic on Lily as she reluctantly agreed to hand her baby over to a muggl orphanage.

"How does it feel, Albus?" Sasha raised his voice, "To know now that everything you've done, everything you've decided for almost the past twenty years have been what _he_," a nod in Galor's direction, "wanted you to do? He convinced you to get Lily to give up her son. He convinced Lily to go along with it.

"And for what? You don't know, do you? Even now, so close to achieving his goals, he keeps you in the dark. He doesn't treat you as if you were a Light Lord does he? More like a pawn, a servant, a—"

Interrupted by a fist in his face, Sasha stopped speaking briefly. "A slave." he finished nasally once he'd spit the blood from his mouth. He looked to Galor, the man shook with anger, obviously Sasha had hit a nerve. "A sore point?" He goaded, earning him a punch to the stomach.

Sasha coughed and wheezed and tried to keep the bile from rising in his throat. Shira were strong. Shira as old as Galor Palun were even stronger. Sasha's organs felt like they were ready to rupture from trauma.

Point having been made, Sasha wisely did not speak again. He didn't need to; Dumbledore, although showing no outward reaction, was contemplative of what he had heard.

"The boy will take any chance to cause discord." Galor told Dumbledore sternly.

Sasha shook his head but did not speak.

He didn't have time to; for suddenly, a loud crack signalled the arrival of another person.

Lily Potter arrived, a magnificent image of motherhood, wielding her wand and pointing it fiercely at everyone. "Sasha." she checked, not taking her eyes of her three opponents.

"My hands." Sasha replied hastily, hoping that Lily would understand.

She seemed to. With a quick flick of her want, the skin across Sasha's right hand was cut, releasing him from the bonds of the circle. He cried in relief, too triumphant to recognise the pain for what it is.

Galor was quick to raise his own wand and fire out a curse—something that was blocked by James Potter in an instinctual effort to protect his wife.

Albus acted quickly, trying to cast a stunning spell on Lily.

Lily yelled out a "_Protego!"_ and protected herself expertly. Sensing trouble, Sasha did something he otherwise would have found distasteful; he broke the flimsy rope around his right wrist and grabbed the quill. In a necessary, but dramatic move towards freedom, Sasha dug the quill into his left hand and tore the skin—effectively breaking the spell on that one too.

Choosing to ignore the throbbing in both his hands, Sasha surveyed the situation. It wasn't good. In a quick movement, Sasha reacted on instinct; he rushed forward, grabbed Lily and apparated both of them out of there as quickly as he could.

Without putting any great thought into where they were going, Sasha brought them to the first safe place that went through his head. They disappeared just before an unholy curse would have blown both of them to messy smears on the wall.

Judging from the intensity of that curse, Galor Palun was not a happy man right then.


	33. Chapter 32

_Okay, so this chapter is quite short and not the most exciting. It was, however, necessary. The next chapter should be out a little bit quicker than this one anyway. Also, I just want to say thanks to everyone for your reviews! Enjoy!_

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Chapter 32

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

They landed surprisingly gracefully on grass, the earth soft and soggy from the night-time rain that must have stopped with the wandering sunrise. Sasha looked around, though he didn't need to; he knew where they were.

The old playground hadn't changed much since he had last been there five years ago. At thirteen years of age, it was the day that Voldemort's Death Eater's had finally found him. It hadn't changed much since then; still overgrown and abandoned—just the way he liked it. The swings and abandoned slide had rusted somewhat more since he had been there last, but a new fence had been erected and there were less broken beer bottles and used needles strewn through the overgrown grass.

"Where are we?" Lily asked, turning around to get a complete view of the area.

Attentively, Sasha moved over to the old broken down wall that he used to sit on, wary of his bruised ribs and whatever other damage Galor may have left with him. With less grace than he would have cared for, he struggled up onto the wall. It wasn't high; barely a hop really but when he was younger it had felt so much bigger.

"I used to come here when I was younger. Watch the kids play with their parents. When they closed it down, it became a quiet place for me to go, to think. Haven't been here in years..."

Lily smiled at that, happy to learn anything about Sasha that she could. It also created a strangely hollow feeling in her chest though, as she thought of the times _she_ might have brought him to a playground but instead he had had to take himself. Lily wanted to apologise. She wanted to say something, let Sasha know that she was sorry for his circumstances and she wished to God or Merlin or whoever would listen that she hadn't wanted that suffering for him.

She would have vowed an undying oath to protect him from anything in that moment, but then she spotted his hands. "Oh, you're hurt!" she cried, rushing over to him and fussing.

Sasha looked down at them in surprise, having already forgotten the pain. They were bloodied and ugly, but the cuts weren't deep. Admittedly, his right hand looked a lot better than the one he had done himself, but then, he hadn't had the luxury of a cutting curse to help his actions.

He watched as his mother gently took one hand and then the other and healed both with a whispering healing spell. She was clearly good at healing because once she was done; Sasha's wounds were closed and only a jagged, risen scar remained on his skin. That too, would soon heal. She didn't immediately let go once she had finished and her grasp lingered for a moment before grudgingly retreating altogether.

The gentleness of her touch, the caring in her eyes. Sasha frowned as he swallowed a lump in his throat. "Thank you." he whispered, truly genuine in his gratitude.

It shocked him that someone would do this and elicit such a strong reaction. But his throat constricted and his eyes softened as a testament to the fact.

"For everything, I mean."

Lily looked up with a beautiful smile. "You're my son." She said, as if that explained anything.

In a way, Sasha supposed it must have. And in the same way, she was his mother and he instinctively felt something because of that. He didn't accept touches like that from anyone else who wasn't his master—and those were few and far between. Yet the absence of Lily's hands on his somehow left him feeling wanting.

"You've given up so much," Sasha told her sadly, forcing her to realise this and pay attention to her problems instead of his, "you've betrayed your Order and your husband. I'm sorry you had to do that."

"Some things are worth the sacrifice." Lily told him with a smile.

Again, Sasha was struck by the sentiment. Uncomfortable, he looked away. His heart beat strong against his ribcage. Powered by emotion, it became almost uncomfortable in its intensity.

"You can't go back. You betrayed them." Sasha said.

Shrugging, Lily replied, "I have everything I need right here; there's nothing else more important to me than you."

Turning back, Sasha looked at his mother. Suddenly, she didn't seem so insane, so close to the edge. Everyone had walked on eggshells around her in the order, terrified they might do or say something to set her off, but she wasn't nearly as fragile as people thought she was. For the first time, Sasha saw Lily as she really was; the strong witch that had so attracted Paveh to her all those years ago. She was Light and pure and stronger than he would have given anyone credit for, being so far from the Dark.

Sasha shook his head. "I can't take you with me—I can't ask you to be a Dark wizard because you aren't, you couldn't live like that."

"I know Dark spells."

"It's not the same thing. Where I am, where I'm going... you can't follow me."

Lily looked down, quiet in her thoughts.

"I wish you could." Sasha said.

Lily nodded.

"Maybe you could go back. Beg for forgiveness..." Sasha mused softly, "maybe if you claimed insanity, or that I somehow influenced you?"

"You said it yourself; I can't go back. Maybe if it was just James, I would have, but not with the others there... It's alright, Sasha; I'll figure something out." she said, smiling, a little less brightly than before.

It was a hard thing. Sasha never thought he'd care about Lily. Yet this woman sacrificed everything for him and she was his mother. That shouldn't have mattered, Voldemort wouldn't care, but somehow it did to Sasha. He cared for Lily in the same way he cared for Paveh. He hated his sentimentality, but Sasha knew he couldn't leave Lily after everything she had done for him.

He suddenly had a thought. "I know," he said excitedly, "I know."

He pushed himself off of the wall and landed in front of his mother. Taking a moment to regret the speed of his descent as his ribs groaned, Sasha winced. "Give me your hand." he said, holding out his own.

After giving him a questioning look, Lily placed her hand in his.

Sasha gave her a reassuring smile before he apparated away with her.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Lily looked around in confusion.

"Where are we?" she asked her son.

Sasha spied where he was supposed to be going and led the way up a flight of stairs. "London." he said, "Muggle London. The suburbs, of course."

The next question, of course, was why. Before Lily could ask it, however, Sasha stopped and turned half-way up. He faced her. "You can't go back to the Order. And I can't take you with me," he told her, "but I can keep you safe; out of the war, off the radar."

He started walking again. "An old friend of mine lives here." he walked to the door and knocked on it. "If she's good enough, she'll let you stay here for a while—until it's all over. We'll figure out the rest from there."

"N-no, I don't want to just hide—"

At that moment, Diana opened her door, bleary eyed, her hair mused. Sasha supposed it was quite early.

"Diana." Sasha said.

Diana looked as if she was about to shut the door. "Sasha." She replied.

There was a moment of silence. "Can we come in?"

Sasha hadn't seen Diana since he had revealed the existence of magic to her. He had wanted to give her time to digest the information. He had been a bit too busy to visit also, a minor factor that he wasn't going to mention.

Diana licked her teeth with an unimpressed stare.

"Please, Diana." Sasha begged.

Still keeping her expression of apathy, Diana pushed herself away from the door and allowed them entrance, grudgingly.

"Thanks." Sasha said as he entered and glanced at Lily as she shut the door.

"Months." Diana told him angrily, shutting the door behind them. "It's been months!"

Nodding, Sasha raised his hands defensively. "I know, I know. I just wanted to give you some time, that's all."

"Months!" Diana growled again. "And now you come here at this ungodly hour, like nothing's happened, no apologies, no nothing!"

"I'm sorry."

Diana, who was about to say something, stopped and rolled her eye with a dramatic sigh. "Like that does any good." she grumbled.

Then she looked to Lily, "Who are you?" Diana demanded.

Licking his lips, Sasha gave a quick glance at Lily. "She's my mother."

Diana scowled. "I thought you were supposed to be an orphan."

"I was—or at least I thought I was," Sasha said, "until recently, anyway. I found my father too."

"Oh," Diana intoned with a raised brow, "Is that so? Isn't that happy."

Sasha smiled at his friend's caustic tone, knowing it wasn't as insincere as it sounded. "It is." Sasha replied.

Folding her arms, Diana got down to business. "I suppose this isn't a social visit." she guessed.

Giving a sheepish smile Sasha didn't correct her. "This is the only place that's safe. No one knows about you. I want to keep both of you away from everything. This was the perfect solution. There's a war going on, Diana. I've no one else to turn to."

This softened Diana slightly. "Are you... like him?" She asked Lily.

Sasha answered for his mother. "She's human. A witch, but human."

He knew Lily would have been confused by the question and answered wrongly, throwing Diana into a wild tantrum which would have slowed things down considerably.

Diana bit her nail while she considered Lily. "Once you don't go turning my furniture into animals or something, I'm alright with you staying here for a bit," she said, "but I didn't catch your name."

"Lily, Lily Potter."

Diana nodded. "You owe me, Sasha. More than usual even."

Sasha grinned, "Yeah, yeah," He said with a dismissive wave, "I'll get you a puppy."

Even trying to look annoyed, Diana couldn't quite muster the anger she needed. "I'm serious this time; I need some proper payback. How long is _this_," she gestured between the three of them, "supposed to last?"

"A week—at most."

Diana scoffed. "Wars are short in your world."

He could have gotten into the details of it, but frankly he knew Diana didn't really want to know all that much. She would have rather his world didn't exist. Since it did, she would have preferred that she didn't know about it. Since she did, she liked to pretend she didn't.

So Sasha just nodded. "I have to go." he said, cutting the visit short.

"I don't want you to leave me here, Sasha; I want to fight by your side." Lily said as he turned to leave.

Sasha grimaced. If he _had_ to have this conversation, he would have preferred to have it in private, without Diana's presence, but he knew what she would say if he asked her to give them some time alone. It wouldn't be good—or polite.

"I can't have you on the battlefield." Sasha said, stepping closer to Lily, "You're my mother; I'd be too distracted worrying about you. I know you can look after yourself—hell you can manage to save my ass while you're at it—but it would throw me off my game. It's best if you're here."

"But—"

"You're my _mother_." Sasha reiterated, "I want to get the chance to know you. I can't do that if you're dead."

Strangely, the words warmed Lily's heart. "Oh, Sasha." She cried as she threw her arms around his neck.

From behind her, Diana gave Sasha an overly sweetened gesture of being touched by the moment. In return, Sasha threw her a withering look and mouthed the words "Go away" using a stronger, more profane phrasing. Smiling smugly, Diana looked to the side.

Before he could untangle himself from his mother's arms, Sasha heard Lily say, "I love you, Sasha. I'm coming with you; I'd sacrifice everything for you."

Tensing, knowing that he wouldn't be able to convince Lily to stay, Sasha did the only thing he could think of. "I know, Lily." he said. "_Somnus_."

The spell had Lily fall limp in his arms. He grunted and shuffled to get a firm grip on his mother.

Diana jumped. "Jesus, Sasha, what the bloody hell did you do?"

"She's just sleeping, don't worry."

He dragged Lily over to the couch and put her down, moving her feet up onto the chair and making sure she was in a comfortable position.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with sleeping beauty here?" Diana demanded.

"Relax. I'll be back within a week. She'll stay asleep until then."

"Oh yeah, great. And what if there's a fire? What am I supposed to do with sleeping beauty over there, then? I can't use your freaky magic stuff to get her out of here."

Sasha's lips twitched upwards. "If there's a problem, just shake her and she'll wake up. But, Diana, don't wake her up unless you have to; she'll come straight for me and that'll just put her in danger. It's for the best that she's here."

"Why are you being so nice to her?" Diana asked, rubbing her arm and looking at the prone form of Lily. "She abandoned you at that orphanage. She left you to suffer there. Everything bad that's ever happened to you has been because of that place."

Diana didn't know the full details of Sasha's time in the orphanage, but she knew enough. She had been there when he woke up screaming at night. She had witnessed his terror at the sight of social workers on the street or his silence when someone mentioned the word 'orphanage'. She knew he had suffered because of that place and she could take a guess as to how.

"It's not as simple as all that. I'll explain everything."

"Just not now, right?" she asked, knowing already what the answer would be.

"Yeah. But I will, as soon as all of this is over."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." she said, not happy, but powerless to change anything anyway.

Sasha smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding. I should get going."

Diana nodded.

Sasha made his way to the door and stopped. "You should know; if I'm not back within a week...well, I probably won't be."

"Then don't go. Stay here with me and your mother. It's only a week and let's face it; no matter how good you are, your only one person. There will be others who can do what you do. Stay here. Don't go."

Diana stood before him, arms wrapped around her thin frame, looking small and defenceless. "You're like a brother, Sasha; you're all I have left. I need you."

"There's others that need me too

"Not like I do."

Sasha looked down at his feet. "I can't. Would you believe me if I said the war might actually count on me?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Well, it might, and as much as I wish I could stay here, I've already made my promises to people."

Diana closed her eyes. "Then make one more; promise you'll come back."

"I will... If I can."

Diana knew Sasha well enough to hear the uncertainty in his voice. "But you don't think you can?"

At this, Sasha hesitated and the words out of his mouth surprised even him. "I don't know. I have a bad feeling about it."

Diana didn't know what to say. Instead, she walked over to Sasha and threw her arms around him. Sasha returned the hug, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He may never see Diana again.

"Goodbye Diana." He said, immediately regretting his words because they sounded so formal, so final.

"See you next week." Diana said instead.

Removing himself from Diana's grasp, Sasha quirked a smile and stepped away. He disappeared with a little Shiran magic.

Diana watched the space before her become empty. She closed her eyes and turned back around to her lonely apartment. Remembering Lily, she walked over to the unconscious woman and looked down at her thoughtfully.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" she asked.

There was no reply.

Sighing, Diana turned and walked out of her apartment, she didn't want to be there right then.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The Shiran elders had gathered around the Well of Balance.

Navaa was reporting to her superiors about a minor mission she had just returned from. It had gone off without a hitch and there wasn't much more that needed to be said on that matter. She had been about to finish up when a sudden disturbance in the air made her frown and look over to the other side of the well.

Sasha appeared looking a little worse for wear. His lip was busted and slightly swollen. His cheek, along with his lip, was bruised lightly. Within a few hours, it would bloom into full colour. Already Navaa could see the beginnings of it.

"Sasha?" she asked, stopping from her report.

Sasha looked at her with a frown, before he turned to the elders. He ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this." he told them all.

"What is it?" Ephra Gon asked before anyone else could.

After a brief hesitation, Sasha answered, "You told me to keep an eye out for the traitor."

"You found him?" Diari questioned.

Sasha shook his head. "He found me."

"Who?" Lang Medeh coaxed gently, not conveying the dread that he was feeling.

"Galor Palun." The name was said softly, quietly, barely above an audible level. Despite that, everyone in the area heard it and stilled in shock.

"That is a serious accusation, Sasha," Navaa warned him, "are you sure of this?"

A deep scowl appeared on Sasha's features. "Of course I'm sure!" He snarled, "You think I wouldn't know? Or is it that you just don't believe me? Here, take a look; I'll leave my memories open for you."

"That won't be necessary." Orun Apa spoke for the first time. "We always suspected in our heart of hearts that it could be Galor... we just wished it wasn't. Thank you for this, Sasha."

Sasha nodded, cooling down now that he knew he had support.

"Did you manage to uncover his plans?" Ephra asked.

"No. I tried to but I couldn't. He wants war, though. He's sided with a human, a Light Lord by the name of Dumbledore. Whatever his plan is, he wanted me dead so he could turn Paveh away from Balance. I don't know why and to what purpose, but he admitted as much himself."

"Did he hurt you?" Diari asked gently.

Sasha shook his head. "Not substantially. I got away before he could."

"Your service is greatly appreciated." Lang told Sasha.

Navaa sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "This will kill Paveh." She said mostly to herself, "I will go inform him."

Sasha looked over at his father's friend. "I'm sorry, Navaa."

Shaking her head, Navaa waved him away. "Do not apologise for what Galor chose to do."

She disappeared after that, looking shaken and pale.

"War it is then." Orun Apa muttered behind his hand, looking to the Well of Balance that was just little more black than the last time Sasha had seen it.

War it had to be


	34. Chapter 33

__Okay, so it's been a super long time since I posted last. I had my computer stolen so everything I wrote was lost, which was really annoying because I was almost finished writing this entirely so I've had to go back and do it all again. Not fun :(. Anyway, I'm back and working on the next chapter. Enjoy!

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_Chapter 33_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Galor Palun fumed.

He had thrown his childish tantrum, wrecking the room and everything in it. He had railed until he could do so no longer and stopped, exhausted. Dumbledore had watched him quietly, alarmed at the vicious reaction to an otherwise controlled man.

James Potter didn't seem to care too much. "She betrayed me..." He whispered in shock every now and then, shaking his head as he did.

Now though, Galor was quiet. He was still furious, still raging inside, but at least he wasn't violent anymore.

"All is not lost." He mumbled behind the hand rubbing his chin. "There is still a possibility that we can triumph. There is still time."

"What can we do?" Dumbledore asked.

Laughing bitterly, Galor turned to the old wizard, "Not we. No. You are not going to be a part of this. Involving you was a mistake and I cannot afford another one. You do not need to know my businessI will do this alone. Continue with what you were doing. Be ready for the battle. It will come sooner than you may like. Do not get in my way."

He left then, disappearing from the room with an eerie silence.

James looked up from his misery. "What have you done?" He asked in a wheezing whisper. "Involving him in our business... you've ruined us all."

Dumbledore watched James sadly, knowing it was true. But what was he to do? What _could_ he have done? Facing such a decision, what was a leader to do? Destruction or defiance? He should never have trusted the mysterious Galor Palun, the man who knew so much about things which he never should have.

Faced with a decision of certain defeat at the hands of Voldemort, Dumbledore had taken the easier path and had given his problems to another. It was the wrong choice. All was now ruined. Who truly knew how much damage had been done.

"Forgive me, James." Dumbledore replied mournfully.

James looked up, a sudden anger shining in his eyes. "I'll fight for you in the final battle," He sneered in disgust, "but this is where our association ends. Win or lose, you will never see me again."

He left the room then. Dumbledore watched him go. An old man on his own.

Victorious or not, too much had already been lost in this war.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Voldemort sat on his throne, a shivering Severus Snape kneeling before his feet.

The jig was up, the curtain drawn, the game ended. Severus Snape was a spy. Not for Voldemort but Dumbledore. There was nowhere left to hide. Snape only had the truth now and that certainly wasn't going to save him. He also had a furious Dark Lord, ready and eager to continue with his vengeful torture, full of anger and hatred and the belief that he had been wronged by his follower.

This was it. There were no two ways about it.

Lily...

It was because of her that he was in this position; all because of her. Everything he had done had been for her, and everything had led up to this moment. He had agreed to spy for Dumbledore because Lily had wished it and she meant so much to Severus that he could not say no. It had been his one chance to play the knight in shining armour, to do what James Potter could not, and would never be able to do.

She had damned him to the fate of a spy and now, once again, she managed to back him into a corner. One he would not be getting out of. He had to accept it. What more could he do?

The Dark Mark had been burning the skin on his arm for hours—it had awoken him from Lily's _Stupefy_ with the pain. When he had refused the call—partly out of fear, confusion and his own innate sense of survival, Severus had been ambushed by Voldemort's most feared and loyal Death Eaters.

Bellatrix Lestrange was tittering manically to his left, his old friend Lucius Malfoy stood scarily silent to the right. It was hard to gauge Lucius' feelings, but regardless of what they might be, duty to the Dark Lord would always come first. The rest of the inner circle were crowded around him, looming from the threatening height of standing up straight. There was no getting out of this. No escape.

"You have betrayed me, Severus." Voldemort's cold voice slithered around the room like the snake it belonged to.

It wasn't a question and Snape couldn't deny it. Even if this had been a hearing and not a condemning, the evidence was stacked against him; they had, after all, found him in the Potter household, still disorientated and confused by the sneak attack Lily had pulled. They had searched his mind and in his vulnerable state he not been able to protect himself. They saw everything. Everything apart from the whereabouts of the prisoner, thanks to a spell that blurred the information from prying minds.

Voldemort held his wand in his hand, it was limp, barely within his grasp, but Snape didn't think for a moment that it meant anything. Did a creature as strong as the Dark Lord even need to bother with a wand? Snape wasn't sure, but he suspected that his weapon was out for intimidation purposes. It worked too; the potions master was intimidated.

"I do not require much of my servants; only that they work to the fullest of their abilities and they are entirely and completely loyal to me. In return, I grant you the greatest gift of all; the ability to see our dreams realised, to live in a future that accepts our Dark natures. I have only ever asked you to abide by two rules, Severus, and you have failed me in both. Do you know what the punishment for this treachery is, Severus?"

"Death." There was no point addressing him as 'my lord' any longer, the farce was over. He was proud that his voice didn't shake though; if he had to die, let it be with as much dignity as he could muster.

Voldemort's hearty laughter dashed any hopes that Snape might have had. "Oh no, Severus," Voldemort corrected with an evil smirk, "those who _fail_ me may be fortunate enough to receive that fate. Yours, I can assure you, will be much, _much_ worse."

Voldemort stood up and took a leisurely step forward. "But first," he whispered sinisterly, "I will get the answers I so desire. And unfortunately for you, I have no potions master to administer a _veritaserum_."

The menacing rumble from his chest did not bode well for Snape and yes, they had found the veritaserum on him and knew who it was for.

"Leave. All of you." He commanded to his Death Eaters.

Dark Lord and captive remained still while the man's followers filled out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Where is he?" Voldemort questioned as soon as the doors clicked shut.

Snape froze for a moment. Who? Dumbledore? The boy prodigy, Sasha Kamenev? Was there anyone else he could have meant?

Apparently, he spent too long deliberating. Voldemort snarled and hit him with a silent curse. It wasn't a _crucio_ but it couldn't have been much less painful. Snape fought to keep himself from screaming. He gritted his teeth, barely trusting himself to breathe without begging for relief.

"Where is he? Where is Sasha?" The Dark Lord demanded. His voice rose slightly so Snape could hear through the pain of the curse.

_How considerate of him..._

He thought sarcastically for a moment before considering how it was the boy Voldemort was asking about first, not Dumbledore. Was that truly foremost on his mind?

The Dark Lord did not care about his followers; everyone knew that—even his followers knew that. So why was it, then, that Voldemort was standing in front of him, ready to torture him for answers to the whereabouts of one boy?

It was an interesting detail, but not one Snape could afford to dwell on; he had much more pressing matters to worry about—his imminent death being one of them.

"I do not know." He lied.

This time, Snape _was_ hit with a _crucio_. He had forgotten how painful it could be when cast by a Dark Lord. This time he couldn't help but emit a strangled groaning sound.

"Do _not_ lie to me Severus," the Dark Lord warned ominously, "you may be dying here tonight regardless, but it is I who decide when and how. Give me the answers I seek and I assure you, you will feel no pain. Resist... well, I don't need to insult your intelligence by spelling out how creative I can be."

Snape didn't speak. Partly this was because he only had a sarcastic response to Voldemort's warning. It was also largely due to the fact that he was still trying to stop the twitching in his jaw from the last spell the Dark Lord had cast on him. He couldn't deny that he wasn't exactly eager to get another either.

Despite Snape's restraint, Voldemort threw another curse at him. Snape moaned in agony, his hands clawed, his muscles strained to the point of snapping altogether. He was on the ground and writhing, squirming like a worm of the earth.

"Where. Is. He?"

Snape didn't know what was worse; the searing hot agony or the icy cold voice that cut through it. Each one was as torturous as the other. For a moment his confused brain could not process the meaning of the words, only seeing them as another weapon to hurt him. At that stage, with the full effects of the excruciating curse running through his body, Snape didn't think he could speak. Pure lead had replaced the organic tissue of his tongue. Numb, it rested heavily in his mouth.

Sasha Kamenev. The boy who was responsible for his pain. What in Merlin's name was so special about this boy that a heartless, uncaring Dark Lord could go so crazy over? The boy was a mystery, a puzzle. Snape didn't like puzzles; they were the antipathy of answers, of knowledge—of everything he believed in. Sasha Kamenev was his intellectual enemy.

Interestingly enough, it was in the moment of that conclusion that Sasha Kamenev would spare Severus Snape a few moments of pain.

The sound of the doors being pushed open had Voldemort bark out an order to "Leave!"

Snape didn't know who the idiot intruder was, and apparently, Voldemort didn't either. Snape thought whoever it was must have been slow; even _he_ wouldn't interrupt the Dark Lord during a torture session. The man took too much pleasure out of his sadistic practices and he could so easily change from one victim to the other.

The person on the other end of the door entered the room regardless.

"I said..." Voldemort sounded as if he was about to unleash his fury, instead, his voice trailed away. "Sasha." He breathed in astonishment.

Sasha stepped into the room, clearly observing both Voldemort and Snape and reserving judgement on the situation. "My Lord." He said, swinging the door shut behind him with a trickle of Shiran magic.

Approaching Voldemort, Sasha moved around the kneeling figure of Snape nonchalantly, as if he was nothing more than a chair or table. The focus and the intensity between the two was so strange and unusual that Snape couldn't get his head around the notion. They looked a lot less like a master and servant and a lot more like... something else.

Snape couldn't quite put a finger on the extent of their relationship, not from that little snippet of time, but it unsettled him deeply.

The boy approached Voldemort, coming closer than any of the others would dare to.

Snape got a sudden image of the boy in Hogwarts, hunched over a cauldron, stirring as if bored and without any ambition. He had never been a fantastic student, acceptable to be sure, but always only a foot away from brilliance. It suddenly struck him how successful that disguise had been. Snape was sure he would have noticed a brilliant student as much as a bad one.

The boy deserved his status.

As Sasha moved closer, Voldemort's hand shot out with startling speed, pulling the boy in and fiercely claiming his lips in a dominant gesture.

Suddenly the nature of their relationship became much clearer.

Snape balked in surprise.

His eyes were stuck on the two in front of him. He didn't think he could look away even if he wanted to. Neither the Dark Lord nor the boy seemed to be new to this either. It boggled the mind.

Voldemort never took his servants to bed—never. It just wasn't done; he wasn't that sort of master. Yet under their noses, all these years, there had been _this_ and they had downplayed their relationship masterfully; no one had suspected them of anything. Snape wondered why all of a sudden they didn't care about the audience. Then it struck him; he was a dead man in everything but being at the moment. He would never survive to tell the tale.

Recovering from the shocking revelation before him, Snape wondered how the boy had escaped at all. Dumbledore had been so assured it was not possible. A sinking feeling in Snape's stomach reminded him that he had truly chosen the wrong loyalties.

Pulling back from the kiss, Voldemort kept his hand on Sasha's face, eyes on the bruises as his thumb gently brushed over their surface. "Did Dumbledore do this to you?" He demanded with narrowed eyes.

"Dumbledore..." Sasha repeated, giving a breathless laugh, "No. Dumbledore is the least of our worries right now."

Voldemort raised a brow.

Sasha further explained. "He has Shira working with him."

"The traitor?" He asked, his mind immediately going where it took Sasha's a few minutes to get to.

"Yes." Sasha said. "He's sided with the Light. It was the only reason I was caught in the first place."

Voldemort gazed at the bruises thoughtfully. "How does this change our strategy?"

Shaking his head Sasha replied. "It doesn't. I've already contacted the others. There's a plan."

Removing his hand from Sasha's cheek, Voldemort took his eyes off his young ward for the first time since he entered the room. He turned back to Snape, expression losing the softness it held with Sasha when they were interacting. "Good. We can move onto the next part, then." He told Snape, stepping away from Sasha.

In a ridiculous moment of bravery, Snape looked to Sasha with a sneer. The boy didn't seem to mind, but Voldemort did. Correction was immediate and the potions master was struck down by another silent curse. Past his pained breaths, Snape heard Voldemort speak again.

"I cannot imagine it was an easy escape." He commented lightly, as if he was not torturing a man in front of him.

"Hmm," Sasha agreed, "I almost didn't make it."

"And how did you?"

A smile touched Sasha's lips. "I have a very resourceful mother."

The curse was lifted off Snape as Voldemort turned around to face Sasha. He regarded him with interest. "Oh? And where will Lily Potter go now? She cannot stay with her Order, I presume."

Snape stilled at the mention of Lily. "Did you hurt her?" He wheezed out, trying to struggle to his knees.

The attention of both Sasha and Voldemort turned on him. They looked down at the pathetic figure of Severus Snape. His knees shook as he struggled to stay on them. "Did you touch her?" he asked again, trying desperately to be strong, trying to find out if he needed to help her.

Voldemort laughed delightedly. "You see, Sasha, Severus here has always harboured a not so secret infatuation with your mother," His voice was so mocking, so malicious, Snape cringed, "It made him so easy to control, so _malleable_ to my manipulations—and hers too, I imagine."

Sasha smirked slightly, but answered Snape's question regardless. "Don't worry, she's safe. Out of the war, out of danger."

"You're not her son," Snape croaked with a shake of his head, clutching his stomach in pain, "You look nothing like her or James."

"I'm no Potter." Sasha responded with a scoff. "I'm all Lily. Only Lily."

"No!" Snape gasped in horror, in denial, "Lily wouldn't... She wouldn't cheat on him. She isn't that sort of person."

She wasn't. Snape knew she wasn't. Lily was pure and beautiful and perfect. Not the sort of person to cheat on her husband and bear another man's child. But then again...perhaps she wasn't as faultless as he portrayed her to be. Was it possible that so many years of idolising her had him create a persona that was fantastical and unreal?

Clearly there was something to it; had Lily not thrown herself at him in order to... save her son? Was it really possible that Lily hadn't been driven to insanity by the loss of a child?

The more he looked at the boy, the more Snape realised that there were elements of her in him. The eyes that were mostly hers, but were imbued some influence from an outside source. A certain softness around the mouth that he tried to hide and failed. The high cheekbones. The long fingers. They were all Lily. The rest, however, would have to have been his father. Not that Snape knew the man, but he was sure he could tell what he would look like.

"Lily..." Snape whispered as he hung his head low, hair falling in front of his face like a protective curtain.

Voldemort was smirking full of sadistic glee. "Sasha," he said, "Severus claims to know nothing. What do you think we should do to change his mind on the matter?"

Sasha shook his head. "I don't think he's lying. Dumbledore never really trusted him enough to say anything of any great importance. He was just a pawn, nothing more than that."

"So there is nothing more to do but make an example of him."

Voldemort raised his wand, leering down at Snape with a manic grin. Taking pity on his old potions teacher, Sasha moved in silently, swiftly, and put a hand on the Dark Lord's arm, lowering the wand and appendage.

"Just kill him. It is not necessary to do any more than that. Anything that needs to be done can happen more efficiently post-humus. Quicker that way."

"But rather less enjoyable." Voldemort argued with narrowed eyes.

Sasha looked at him for a long time before shrugging nonchalantly, "Very well. I know _I_ can think of more enjoyable things to do with my time. But if that is your wish..." Sasha licked his lips and let his touch linger just a moment longer. Then he shrugged again and moved away, sparing one last glance to Snape as he slowly prowled out of the room.

Voldemort watched him go, eyes shining lustfully.

Snape watched in horror. It seemed both the boy was capable of seduction as a means to achieve his goals. A family trait, clearly.

"You are lucky, Severus," Voldemort said, still watching the door that Sasha had left through, "that the boy has a softer side than I do. For whatever reason, he seems to pity you. Because of that, I will grant you the mercy he wishes to give. You will have a quick death, Severus, thank your lucky stars."

Only because he knew what to expect, Severus saw the killing curse coming straight for him. He closed his eyes, willing not to see that dreadful green coming at him and instead conjuring an image of a younger Lily Evans, laughing in the halls of Hogwarts.

For a moment, he was there with her.


	35. Chapter 34

Wow, this certainly came out much quicker than I anticipated. Thanks for the reviews and enjoy. Also, this is the last chapter before the actions starts. The story ends with the war so we're almost there! Anyway, enjoy!

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><p><em><span>...<span>_

_Chapter 34_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Sasha could see nothing. Blind, panicked and scared, he spun on his heel trying to make something out of the utter darkness. It had swallowed him some time ago and though Sasha couldn't be sure of the exact length, it felt like forever. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember not being there.

These shadows were ageless, living in a time before life began and somehow they had found and subdued him.

"Hello?" He called out into the shadows but the sound was swallowed up and he choked on his own voice.

He tried again. "Is anybody there?"

Still no answer, no sound, just silence and darkness and a sense of utter lonliness.

"Help me." He said, though the words were lost once again.

Sinking down to his knees, Sasha felt the steady thrum of the power coming from everywhere around him. This blackness was alive, not merely a state but a sentient being, oppressing and conquering.

He wanted to run, hide, fight, scream or shout but his limbs felt heavy, his mind numb, his voice silenced. So he sat and waited.

And soon, his submission was rewarded.

A warmth entered a breeze that had not previously existed. It brushed his hair away from his eyes. Then, he felt a presence, gentle as the morning dew, and a hand rubbing his cheek. He looked up, but could not see.

"Hush. You are safe." A voice said. Beautiful and sweet, lyrical in its cadence, but speaking with so much power behind it and so many voices brought together to combine as one. It was peaceful, comforting, natural.

And Sasha knew who it was.

"Nature." He said, his voice a whisper but now solid with the presence of his goddess.

"Our Scion." She said, a voice of many voices.

Nature, being the master of so many things, did not consider herself a single entity but an amalgamation of countless, a divine consciousness ruling over billions. Her speech reflected that. She was many, she was all, she was Nature.

"Our precious Scion, our servant, our survivor. We have watched you. You are strong, you are worthy of us. Worthy of our trust. We trust in you, Scion. But you will need our help; the battle tomorrow will be fierce, desperate. We now need your undistracted loyalty."

"You have it."

"You will do what we require tomorrow. How we command and when we command it."

"Of course, but Voldemort is my master too. I have duties to him as well."

The hand left his face and the gentle presence disappeared, instead, a harsher, sterner one appeared in its place. Nature's mood shifted as quick as the winds.

Sasha jumped at the change and before the goddess could voice her displeasure he said. "I'll do both. I can serve you and him."

Nature was not appeased. "The human is irrelevant. We are your one true master. The human was a toy, allowed by us to teach you how to serve."

Sasha scowled. "If you wanted a loyal servant, why abandon me in the first place? You left me alone. I had to fend for myself. Of course I was going to find someone else. Of course I was going to offer my loyalty; that's what I'm built for, that's how you made me, that's all I have to give."

It was said with an anger Sasha did not know he possessed. It surprised him and he wondered how long had it been simmering away in his subconscious?

"...You needed to grow away from us." Nature said as her only defence. Her voice was weary, saddened.

"Why?"

The curtness returned. "We do not answer your questions. You respond to our orders, that is all."

"I won't abandon Voldemort." Sasha said, stubborn now that Nature was being stern.

"If you do not heed us, you will fall."

Sasha paused. "Is that a threat?"

"A prophecy."

"I have to protect Voldemort."

"If you ignore us, he too will die. All will die. There can be no life if Chaos is allowed to reign once more."

"What do you want me to do?"

"No questions." Nature said. "We will show you when the time comes."

Sasha thought about that. Would Nature's orders conflict with Voldemort's? He didn't want to disobey the Dark Lord but what choice did he have? He promised his service to Voldemort and if following Nature helped, even if it was against the plan, then how could he not?

"Then you'll have my complete and unwavering loyalty, as you always have."

Nature presence gave off a pleased vibe. "Good. Though we have not had your loyalty as completely as you seem to think. But do not worry, Scion, we will give you the chance to prove yourself tomorrow. You will give us all."

Sasha stiffened. "What does that mean?"

"Do not fret, the wheels are in motion, you need only let it happen."

Then, Nature was gone and the ground shook and the darkness only got darker and Sasha awoke.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha sat up trying to catch his breath.

"You fell asleep."

He turned to see Voldemort in a chair across the room, reading a book of parseltongue.

"Sorry," Sasha mumbled, shifting in his own chair, "must have been the heat from the fire."

"Indeed." Voldemort said, eyes flickering up over the pages and then back down, already bored with the conversation.

Sasha didn't try for more and instead mused on the very lucid dream he had just had. Only, Sasha knew it wasn't a dream and couldn't have been. It was Nature contacting him in the most outright way she ever had. It must have been important if she needed to meet him face to face—not that he could see anything anyway.

He glanced over at Voldemort.

Nature had said if Sasha didn't listen to her, the Dark Lord would die. Sasha couldn't have that. He would protect his master in any way he could. But he was worried about how far he might have to go. Nature's meeting left him with an uneasy feeling deep in his chest. Nature could communicate with him through thoughts, emotions and impressions, why then, did she speak to him, in human tongue?

And why did she need a verbal assurance of his loyalty? She said she had prophesised the downfall of Balance and Sasha didn't doubt that, but what awaited him tomorrow that she was so worried about? What decision was she so afraid he would not make?

"_You will give us all."_

Sasha wondered, and feared, and couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow was going to be the darkest of days.

One that he would not survive.

He looked into the fire sadly, thoughtful about the possibility of this being his last night. Would Nature really do that to him? He wouldn't have thought so before but with the threat of Chaos looming so darkly, Sasha couldn't find any convincing evidence.

"You're thinking too hard."

Sasha sighed. "Maybe you're right."

"What troubles you?"

"A year ago, I was sitting in the great hall of Hogwarts, sipping hot chocolate. A year ago I was a school child, looking for refuge from a bitter life of being on the run. A year ago, everything had seemed so much bigger. The plans you had so painstakingly concocted seemed so vast and slow-paced I could barely believe they would come to fruition. But that was a year ago. Things are different now. We stand on the edge of victory. A lot had happened in the past year."

Voldemort frowned, put down his book and carefully asked, "What has this got to do with anything?"

"Nothing, it's just I can barely believe this time last year I was trying to find out what I was. Now I know I feel the intense weight of ignorance lifted from my shoulders. I'm more focused now; better able to concentrate on what matters... on what's important."

"That is good, is it not?"

Sasha gave a distracted, "Hmm."

They fell back into silence. Voldemort picked up his book and began reading once more. Sasha continued to stare into the fire, brooding, worrying, and trying to figure out what he was missing.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" Voldemort spoke again.

It was the eve of the final battle. Tomorrow it was either the end of the Light's reign and the beginning of the Dark's –or the other way around—and Sasha honestly couldn't say which.

Shaking his head, Sasha said, "Tomorrow is necessary."

"That doesn't answer my question." Voldemort replied, putting his book back down.

No. It didn't. Sasha had purposely made sure that his reply was evasive. The reason being he didn't want Voldemort to know how he felt. He had to keep it a secret.

Therefore, it came as a surprise when he confessed. "I'm worried." The mere utterance was all it took for Voldemort to straighten.

"Tell me." He commanded.

"Nature assures me that it will be alright." A lie.

"But?" Voldemort coaxed.

"I don't know. There's nothing in particular. The plan's solid, the soldiers are trustworthy and I have every faith in them but... I'm worried." Sasha said with a shrug.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

Sasha shook his head. "Anything that goes right can go wrong."

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully. "You said there was a plan."

"There is. The Shira have agreed to fight against Galor and that's more than I could have asked for." Sasha sighed.

"There has to be a reason for your concern. Things do not happen without reason. It is illogical."

Sasha gave a weak smile. "That's me alright. Don't worry about it. It's like you said; I'm being... illogical."

He wasn't. Not exactly. He didn't want to say that he felt a certain impatience in Nature's presence. In that dark place, where Nature had so much control over him, Sasha had felt it only briefly, vaguely, but he was hyperaware of it now. Fear. Nature stunk of fear. And Sasha was acutely aware that he was vulnerable to her will.

"_Do not fret, the wheels are in motion, you need only let it happen."_

So far, Nature's plans had happened to coincide with Voldemort's. What happened if they, at this late stage, diverged from each other? What then? It didn't make sense for Nature to prepare for tomorrow's battle with the end goal being the defeat of Dumbledore.

Something else was happening behind what Sasha could see and he wasn't able to quite figure out. It gave him a feeling of powerlessness that he hadn't experienced in a great many years.

_...the wheels are in motion..._

But he couldn't tell Voldemort that. No. He couldn't. This wasn't the time or the place. He didn't want to worry Voldemort or make him deviate from his plans. Somehow, it would work out. He'd find a way.

Sasha looked back to his master. "It's late." He said with a faint, distracted smile. "I should get to bed. Goodnight."

He left then, without another word.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Once again, Sasha had lied that night.

The frigid air bit at his uncovered cheeks and he flipped up the collar of his coat to protect from the cold.

Sasha stepped out from behind the trees after a surreptitious glance around. There was no one in sight. Ahead of him, light pooled onto the snowy ground from a window in a small hut. A shadow passed across the window and briefly blocked the glow. Eyes narrowing, Sasha had his target in sight.

Hagrid's hut was so close to the Forbidden Forest that Sasha knew he was unlikely to be seen. Still, he didn't want to take any chances. He walked briskly towards the hut and, once in front of the door, he rapped harshly at the wooden surface.

Movement inside. The sound of a chair creaking.

"_Who could that be at this hour?"_ A muffled voice asked a sleepy hound.

Sasha pulled out his wand as the door opened and Hagrid peered down, gawking.

"Sasha!" The half-giant said, shocked.

"It's cold out. Let's go inside."

Recovering from the initial shock, Hagrid frowned. "Now wait 'ere a minute. Why should I do tha'? Yer working fer You-Know-Who!"

Sasha didn't reply, only raised his wand higher, and grudgingly, Hagrid retreated into the hut. After a quick check to reassure himself no one was watching, Sasha stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a trickle of magic.

Fang looked up drowsily from his position on Hagrid's bed but upon seeing Sasha, he snuffled and resumed napping.

It was warm inside, a healthy fire filled the small fireplace providing more than enough warmth. On the table was the remains of the half-giant's dinner; a few small clumps of mashed potato, the fat from around a lamb chop. Sasha took in the scene with fondness as he thought of all the times he had shared with Hagrid here and bitterness at the reminder that he would never be able to do so again.

"Come ta kill me, 'ave ya?" Hagrid asked, eyes sad and just a little afraid.

"Sit down." Sasha said, motioning towards a chair by the table. Hagrid did as he was told and Sasha sat on the edge of the half-giant's bed, mindlessly petting a content Fang as he did.

"You've been good to me, Hagrid," Sasha said, "better than I deserved, really. If I really had been that lost kid I played at, maybe I would have taken your advice and gone into the business. I would have liked that, I think; it could've been nice. It's just unfortunate that I wasn't."

"Why'd ya do it, Sasha? How could ya, after everythin'?" Hagrid asked suddenly, desperately.

Grimly, Sasha looked down. "I'm sorry; I never wanted to get you caught up in this. I wish you weren't with the Light; it would have made everything so much easier."

"Fer you."

Sasha sighed. "Yes, for me. Nonetheless, here we are and I find myself unwilling to get you involved in tomorrow's events."

Hagrid stiffened. "Merlin, you're goin' to attack Hogwarts."

Sasha didn't deny it. "Tomorrow will be the final battle. It'll mark the end of the war and the start of a new regime, whichever that may be."

Sasha cleared his throat. "So, no, Hagrid," he said, "I've not come to kill you; I've come to help you."

"Wha'?"

"You're not involved in this war, Hagrid, and it's not fair that you get caught up in it. You don't have magic, you can't protect yourself."

"I'd die fer wot's right. I won' stan' down an' let You-Know-Who kill innocent people." Hagrid said.

"I know," Sasha said, "that's why I'm here."

Sasha stood up. He walked over to the window and glanced out.

"Don't worry about your creatures; I'll make sure they'll be alright for a few days."

"Huh?"

Sasha didn't elaborate; he reached into his coat pocket and turned to face the half-giant. Slowly, he pulled out what was hidden inside.

"What's that?"

It was a large iron key on a piece of string. But it was so much more than that. "It's a portkey."

Hagrid stood up quickly. Sasha moved faster. He reached over and grabbed Hagrid, quickly apparating them away.

Upon arrival to the new area, Hagrid fell to his knees, hugely disorientated and slightly queasy. He looked pale. Sasha took a few steps away, giving the half-giant some much needed space.

"Where are we?" Hagrid asked once he started to recover. He struggled to his feet.

They were in a forest. Evergreen trees surrounded them and pine needles crunched underfoot as Sasha moved around. His breath came out in white puffs. It wasn't snowing but the sky was heavy with the promise of it.

"Far away from Hogwarts, the war and Britain itself. You'll stay here for three days then this portkey will take you back to your hut. You won't be attacked or targeted in any way on your return; you'll live out your life in peace, no matter which side wins the war."

"Ya can't really believe that."

"I do. Voldemort rewards those who serve him and I'm giving him my life. He'll do this for me... There's a small cabin about a hundred yards behind you. It's empty and fully stocked. Nothing in these forests will bother you."

"Giving yer life? Ya don' expect ta survive this do ya?" Hagrid said.

He gave a grim smile. "A feeling I can't quite shake."

"Why are ya doin' this, Sasha? You've no reason to go to all this trouble fer me."

Sasha looked away. "If I am to die, let it be with as few sins on my soul as I can manage."

He threw the portkey onto the ground in front of Hagrid's feet.

"Three days. Goodbye Hagrid."

Sasha apparated away.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

He had promised to look after the creatures, so he did. He spelled enough food and water to last three days. His final task was personal.

Stepping out of the small cave in the Forbidden Forest, Sasha heard the greeting whines of the ngen. That fabulous, golden fur shimmered in the moonlight of the clearing. She was pacing, the ngen, and watching him closely with her intelligent eyes. She quivered with anticipation and both she and Sasha felt the immediacy of Kin. They were both Nature's servants and the connection was stronger than it had ever been.

Back when they had first met, Sasha hadn't known what he was. The ngen had but there hadn't been enough time to explain and Sasha hadn't understood what she was trying to show him. Now, it was just them.

Sasha stepped further into the clearing and closer to the bars of the cage. "Hello, old girl." He said.

The ngen responded with a friendly huff, coming to stand in front of him.

"It's all happening tomorrow," Sasha said, "and I think it's about time to let you out."

Her tail flicked excitedly.

Sasha looked around, examining the bars. "Nothing too difficult." He muttered.

He took out his wand and cast a quick spell at the corners of the cage. With a creak and a groan the magic dissipated and the ngen let out a growl of triumph.

She pounced out of her prison towards Sasha, jumping up onto his shoulders and letting out a deep purr as she nuzzled Sasha's neck. Saha staggered at the sheer weight of the ngen but slowly began to pet down her fur.

"Easy, old thing, this is only going to be a quick reunion."

He pushed the ngen back and she returned to the ground, sitting in front of him. She looked at him questioningly.

"There's a war coming. It's all happening tomorrow. I'm getting you out of here. Return to Nature and stay safe."

The ngen growled angrily, shifting to stand on her four paws.

"I don't need you; you'll only get in the way. I've got enough to worry about; I can't be distracted by you too."

The ngen huffed, displeased.

"Return to Nature."

The ngen slowly moved, flicking her tail as she went, she walked as if to leave through the cave, but as she did her body began to disintegrate.

First her fur shivered and changed, becoming autumnal leaves flickering away in a wind that could not possibly exist but did. They faded softly into the sky as they were plucked from her body. The ngen's muscle turned to moss which fell off in clumps until only a skeleton of ancient wood remained. With that, she began to sink into the earth; it swallowed her further with every step until nothing was left.

Sasha sighed. He would have enjoyed the company, but there was no point taking her down with him. Nature might lose one servant tomorrow; she didn't need to lose two.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The wind ruffled his hair, a gentle reminder to Sasha that Nature was there and she was attentive and he was not alone. It wasn't the comforting feeling it should have been; his heart fell. He felt as if was being guided to some point where he would have no control whatsoever.

Sasha wasn't going to kid himself; he was a puppet. Nature could use him as she liked. The same went for Voldemort. But he had never felt it more than now, in this moment.

Sasha shook his head and blinked the snow out of his eyes.

The Forbidden Forest was practically familiar ground to Sasha now. His mind easily recalled the paths he had taken towards the centaur territories a year ago. Moving quickly, he strode through the forest, avoiding trees and branches and other obstacles that occurred naturally in such places.

Once or twice, Sasha saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally, he heard the rustling of leaves or the cracking of a stick. Nothing attacked him though, nothing dared show reveal their presence.

Sasha would have liked to think it was his abundantly powerful aura that left him undisturbed but he had suspicions that it was more to do with his deep affiliation with Nature. He could practically feel creatures being warned away by the busy goddess. The meddling goddess. The plotting goddess. More was going on here than he could make out.

"You have arrived."

Sasha's head snapped up. His eyes found the form of Nessus, the centaur leader, looking as regal as any king. He had a crown of ivy resting on his brow, a heavy, dull iron breastplate covered his chest and shin guards adorned his front two legs, protecting the delicate equine appendages. Peeking out from behind his back, Sasha could see the giant longbow strapped securely between his shoulder blades and an axe peeking out from behind his waist.

This was a man ready for war.

Sasha had been arrogant to think that he could avoid conflict in these parts. He shook his head in embarrassment.

"The war is at your door step." Sasha told him, eyes travelling over the other centaurs standing there, some half hidden behind trees and shrubs. Each one of those centaurs were armed to the teeth and ready for a battle, their horse legs stamping the ground eagerly, snorting into the cold air, creating clouds of foggy mist in front of them.

"We are ready."

"I won't ask you to fight with us; I know this isn't your war."

Nessus looked down at Sasha. "We will fight." He said.

Sasha frowned. "Why?" He asked. "This is not your battle. You don't need to do this. You're putting yourself and your people in danger."

"You do not wish for our aid?"

"That's not it." Sasha denied quickly. "I'm more than eager to have you on our side. That's not what I meant at all."

Nessus huffed with some humour, enjoying the reaction of the boy. "We had not intended to get involved," he told Sasha softly, "but... you cannot tell me you have not noticed this battle is bigger than just your war."

Sasha was quiet, grimly nodding his agreement. "I know." He breathed, feeling another jolt of fear and anxiety shooting through his body.

"So we will fight," Nessus continued, "and we will help you."

"Thank you. Tomorrow, travel to the edge of the forest. You will meet some of the Death Eaters there. You may also see werewolves. Do not attack them; they're on our side. Together, with this alliance we can't lose against Dumbledore. You'll have your peace and after tomorrow, your forests will never be disturbed again. You have my word."

Sasha gave a gracious bow at the waist and turned to leave.

"There have been whispers in the forest."

Nessus' darkened voice made Sasha freeze. With his whole body tensed, he listened to the centaur speak. With all the terrible power of a Seer, Nessus speech was terrifyingly prophetic.

"_The sun has darkened. Colder, these past few months. Chaos stands ready. Nature weeps. Balance flees. The woods are quiet. The creatures hiding. All moments, all instances, all leading to this. To now. Chaos is approaching. Nature is overwhelmed. Balance fears. All lives that came before lived for the purpose of setting the scene. Now is governed by the actions of the past. And all the actions of the past were built for this moment. The End draws near._

"_There is no hope. No prospect of victory, of survival. But one. A hero. Born not from light but darkness. A different kind of champion. One who will bring order with his day before he transcends the physical and returns to Nature. Hark! The trumpets play. Tis the eve of Judgement Day." _

Sasha listened to the prophecy, eyes trained on the empty space directly in front of his eyes. He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stayed still and listened as the words faded and gave way to the unsettling silence of the forest.

Nessus cleared his throat, his voice returning to normal. "It is an old prophecy." He whispered. "Older than me or my grandsire. Our herd has passed down these words from generation to generation. We always knew these things would come to pass, but I never thought it would be in my—or even my children's—lifetime. However, we do not choose our roles, only act them out. Knowing you as I do, even if it is only briefly, I can see you are worthy of that prophecy."

Sasha licked his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You cannot deny—"

"—Meet the others at the edge of the forest. That is all."

Sasha left then, refusing to listen to whatever Nessus had to say. He hurried away, turmoil swirling in his head and heart. He wouldn't believe the words he had just heard. He was a creature that walked outside of Fate. He had no destiny. His future was his own. Nessus was confused, that was all.

He was his own person and if he wasn't, he would make himself his own. He had dreams, ambitions, goals and he wouldn't be led astray from them. He would find a way. Somehow he would deny that prophecy. Dying wasn't an option. Not yet. He still had too much to do. He would defy that fate.

He would create a new day—with him in it.

Only, he had heard those words before from his great-grandmother's journals. And somehow, deep down, those words rang more true than anything he had ever known.

Sasha's resolve shook just a little.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Dumbledore was alone.

In the dead of night, on the eve of his final battle, the headmaster wandered around his office mindlessly picking up the trinkets he had collected and returning them mindlessly.

His body was restless, his mind running, his soul weary. He knew he should retire for the night but thoughts and emotions flashed by and kept him preoccupied. His legs were itchy, he had to walk.

Dumbledore had achieved a lot in his life, some were great and some would shame him to the day he died. Regardless, he had always maintained that he truly regretted nothing, having experienced the triumph from the good things and learning valuable lessons from the bad.

Yet tonight, this night of all nights, his mind was plagued with his failures, the worst of which being how he had handled the war.

He thought of Sasha Kamenev and how they had lost him, but more than that, he thought of what he had said.

"_How does it feel, Albus? To know now that everything you've done, everything you've decided for the past twenty years have been what he wanted you to do? He convinced you to get Lily to give up her son. He convinced Lily to go along with it._

"_And for what? You don't know, do you? Even now, so close to achieving his goals, he keeps you in the dark. He doesn't treat you as if you were a Light Lord does he? More like a pawn, a servant, a slave."_

And how right the boy was. But Dumbledore had known it long before it had been so callously brought up. He still remembered the night that creature, Galor Palun, had come to him.

_It was raining, the sound of heavy drops crashing against his office window. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, despairing, at a loss of what to do. He held his head in his hands, trying to stave off tears for the innocents who had suffered. He had been ready to give up, give in to despair and just stop when that man had appeared out of the shadows._

"_I know what you're up against." Galor Palun had said. "And I know how to help."_

From that moment, Dumbledore had been damned. He had sold his soul to the devil. The man had it all planned out. Everything, every little detail and yes, Dumbledore had wondered afterwards why he had agreed to anything that came from the creature's mouth. But still he followed his orders.

He had damned Lily to a life of despair when he walked into her house and told her to give her child up, knowing all the while that Galor was standing outside the room, manipulating her, persuading her.

Lily would never understand afterwards why she had said yes and Dumbledore couldn't afford to tell her. If any of them knew he was working with a non-human they would have abandoned him and the war would have been lost. The Order _needed_ to be strong and united; it was the only way they could ever win.

That secret, however, had eaten at his soul for the past twenty years and a hole had been created, growing bigger and bigger with each passing command given to him by that Shira.

And now, the order was in ruins. Lily was gone; James hated him and would turn Remus and Sirius against him. Even Snape had only reappeared earlier that day, his body mutilated, broken and note telling him to 'Prepare for Judgement Day'.

Dumbledore knew the moment he met the Shira that it could lead to bad things, but he hadn't wanted this. He knew he was the maker of his own circumstances and he would accept responsibility for it but the pain he had caused could never be forgiven and Dumbledore had a feeling he would never get the opportunity to repent.

He would fight tomorrow and he would win, and then, he would step down from his leadership and leave this world to the youth. Dumbledore intended on going somewhere very far away, somewhere where he could do no more harm.

But first, he would have to commit his final sin.

He would fight.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The Shira were a mysterious race.

No human knew of them, no other creature could conceive them. The Shira didn't explain their position and they didn't try. They knew a human could no more understand their purpose than a cockroach. Such a venture would be pointless and time consuming and that was a sin no Shira could bring themselves to commit.

But even though the Shira were aloof and separate from the happenings of the world around them, they shared many similarities to the other creatures of the universe. They still felt love and joy, pain and suffering, hurt and sorrow.

Betrayal and revenge.

Longevity could breed a long lasting hatred and a grudge that was ultimately as immortal as the Shira it belonged to. A powerful desire to right what had been wronged. For the Shira were, after all, obsessed with maintaining balance.

They were now acting towards the restoration of Balance.

The battle they were preparing for was bigger than just one day of struggle, a petty war between a Lord of Light and one of Dark. It was more than just the asking of a young Scion of Nature. It was duty. It was the protection and the restoration of all they had been working for since eternity began.

Galor Palun was a traitor.

He had not always been. There was a time when he had been a friend, an ally, a valued member of their society. He had been loved and cherished and respected by all. But that was then, in the past. Somehow, it had changed.

The Shira still didn't know what exactly it took for the change, that hateful tumour, to blossom in their kind; it could have been anything. They didn't know. The only thing that was clear, however, was that a wayward Shira had a twisted soul. Their very being was corrupted and damaged, their form distorted. Galor Palun would be no different.

It pained them that one of their brothers was in such pain, so far removed from his very reason for life.

They would end his pain. They would restore Balance. They would save this world.

They would kill Galor Palun.

They only hoped he did not yet realise the full power a Follower of Chaos could wield.


	36. Chapter 35

Hey guys, its been a long time since I've posted but I'm back now (for the moment, anyway). Super busy at the moment so I'm not sure how regular the rest of this is going to be (not like it has been for a while anyway, mind you) and frankly its a little hard to stay motivated to finish this off at the moment. Still, all the heavy lifting is pretty much done so I'll try my best to get it all done.

Also translations:

Pugna= fight

Nex=death

Victoria=victory

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Hogwarts was under siege.

Peace and order lay burning, little more than ashes to the whims of yesterday.

Dumbledore stood with his Order, the remaining Aurors and the citizens who agreed to fight beside them. Their numbers were few—and Voldemort's were not. Albus didn't know how the Dark Lord had managed to bulk up his ranks so thoroughly, yet somehow, there he stood, amidst thousands of warriors, witches, wizards, werewolves—all snarling and spitting. Only the figure of Tom Riddle stood still within the restless waves of moving monsters.

Red eyes glowing, the Dark Lord stood out from the group like a true leader, an intimidating opponent, a worthy adversary.

How had this happened?

Not in all his years, all that time spent visiting Seers and listening to prophecies had he heard one that spoke of an alliance against the Light.

Feeling ill prepared and faint hearted, Dumbledore allowed himself a moment to wallow, closing his eyes. His ears picked up the cacophonous sound of the Dark's leering chants.

"_Pugna, pugna, pugna._

_Nex, nex, nex ut Dumbledore._

_Victoria, victoria, victoria ut Voldemort._

_Pugna, pugna, pugna."_

Dumbledore shuddered because of the words, the immense sound and the nerves of the oncoming battle. He felt naked there, somehow, at the other end of the battlefield, facing his old student and without his trump card.

Galor Palun was not there as he should have been.

The man had a plan. He had said as much. Dumbledore was a witness to his immense power after a demonstration when they had first met some years ago. He had guaranteed the victory of the Light.

But he was missing and had been for many days.

In fact, Dumbledore had not seen him since that day when they had lost Sasha Kamenev.

Speaking of the boy, where was _he_?

Dumbledore could not see him. He would have imagined Sasha Kamenev would be with his master, standing to Voldemort's right had side, but he was not there. Eyes running along the whole area below, the headmaster could not spot the boy.

He could not say what was happening, but judging from Voldemort's arrogant smirk; Sasha was either hidden behind someone or placed somewhere else for an unknown strategy. He assumed it was the latter.

But what could he do?

He had wizards and witches manning the other entrances of the school, all he could do was wait for them to make the first move.

Feeling a presence suddenly at his shoulder, Dumbledore turned to the appearance of Galor Palun. It was unsettling that a creature could approach without as much as a disturbance of air.

Galor floated over to his side. Somehow, he looked sinister, like a monster about to dislocate his jaw so he could swallowing some unsuspecting victim whole. The man's eyes had darkened to the point of being likened to two gaping black holes; it was so much so that they seemed to take light from the area around him. Bruises and long black veins ruined what had once been a handsome face. He now looked like a terminally ill poison victim.

For more than the first time, Dumbledore doubted his alliance with this man, this creature.

"Do not fear," Galor Palun said in a voice that was not altogether human—and barely his own. It reminded Dumbledore of glass crunching underfoot. "There is a plan."

Blue eyes searching the face of Galor, Dumbledore tried to hold his tongue—and failed, "What is it? How can this be salvaged."

The response was immediate. Galor's head snapped in his direction as if he was possessed by an evil spirit. His eyes didn't seem to take in the face in front of him, rolling sightlessly in his head. Body swaying in jerking movements Galor snapped,

"You do not need to know!" He snarled viciously, spittle dripping down the side of his lip. "Just continue what you are doing. I will do what needs to be done."

Dumbledore thought he smelt blood on Galor's person but could see no evidence of injury. Slowly, he nodded. "Very well, I have faith in you." He said quietly.

An evil smirk appeared on Galor's face, full of deranged knowing. Without a word, he turned and disappeared with a flutter of his cloak, sounding more like the flapping of avian wings.

Ignoring the ominous feeling in his heart Dumbledore turned back to the army ahead of him.

The army of the Dark chanted deliriously.

"_Nex, nex, nex ut Dumbledore!"_

Death to Dumbledore lowered his eyes with weariness.

Voldemort's followers were salivating at the prospect of killing the man. Dumbledore felt bad that he would have to deny them that pleasure.

"Magic be with you friends." Dumbledore addressed his allies. "Let us stop the forces of Darkness from taking Hogwarts."

The Light cheered and gave their own glorious battle cry.

Wands at the ready, they advanced.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

No one knew exactly who threw the first curse.

Afterwards, the survivors of the battle would just remember a ripple of action, a splash of adrenalin and then a river of gore.

Werewolves broke away from the hulking mass that was the Dark army and sprinted towards their enemies in a frenzied blood lust. Wizards rushed and dodged and fired their own spells as they all tried to tear through each other's defences.

Comrades and opponents fell, dying in screams and gurgles and gasps.

Sasha watched the beginning of the battle from the safety of the mountains at the edge of Hogwarts wards, now lying in tatters at his feet. It had not been Bellatrix to break the wards finally, but him.

Bellatrix, by all rights, should have been there; it _was_ her triumph after all, but she did not wish to miss the start of the battle and asked that Sasha be the one to pluck the final strand instead. Sasha had agreed and could have sworn that he heard her voice above the others as the fighting commenced.

Glad that she could have her fun, Sasha turned to his other Death Eaters.

Lucius was there, but he was the only other main Death Eater to follow him. Avery had chosen to stay behind with the others. The rest of his small band of followers were relatively new, skilled but not yet proven. Sasha had chosen them from the ranks personally.

"Lucius," he said, "this is where we part."

"Indeed." Lucius said with a nod. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Sasha didn't give him the chance.

"You know what to do; good luck." He finished.

Lucius hesitated, but then nodded, "Good luck to you too. I will see you after this battle has finished."

Sasha nodded and watched patiently until the Malfoy patriarch disapparated.

Sasha gazed at the small group of Death Eaters. There were seven in total. It was a small group, but Sasha didn't want a big one. He would rather have a small, efficient group that he could easily control than one that was chaotic.

His role would be easy enough anyway.

Dumbledore was on the field and most of the Order were too. There would be some Aurors and maybe a professor or two straggling behind, but Sasha was confident that they would meet with little resistance.

"Ready?" He asked the small group. The question made the Death Eaters snap to attention, standing straighter and stiffer and looking ready for battle.

Sasha sighed at the overly eager expressions on his team. Their enthusiasm was tiring. For many of them, this was only the first real battle. Sasha had watched them train and had chosen accordingly. He hoped they had enough decorum to act professionally; they were representatives of Voldemort's army after all.

He walked past them, eyes on the vanishing cabinet that they had brought up with them half an hour ago. The old cabinet had been bought from Borgin and Burkes. Draco had fixed its counterpart and had arrived in the base unharmed and excited—breathless with the pride of his achievement, at which point Lucius had admonished his son for being so transparently happy.

Opening the cabinet doors, Sasha walked through, arriving with a jerk in a very different place.

He stepped further into the Room of Requirements, looking around in case of an ambush. Behind him, his followers stumbled inside as the cabinet spit them out and slammed its doors shut with a strange amount of haughtiness for a piece of furniture.

"Draco." Sasha said, looking to the boy who was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. He had seemed worried, nervous. Now that Sasha was there, he made an effort to look blank and unreadable. A shadow of his father.

"My Lord," Draco said, "has the fighting started?"

Sasha nodded. "Just now."

"Let me help you. I want to fight."

Sasha looked at Draco. He looked determined and more than a little scared. There was truth in his expression though. He didn't know what it was about Draco that softened him. Perhaps it was the father-son dynamic that was so dysfunctional. Either way, Sasha sighed.

"You've done your part, Draco," he said gently, "it's thanks to you we're here at all. Nothing more is needed of you."

"But I _want_ to—"

Sasha shook his head. "No. Go home Draco; your mother is worried about you. You have succeeded in your mission. You've done your father proud."

"My father..." Draco muttered. "Where is he?"

"Playing _his _role in this war. You will be reunited soon enough. Get ready to celebrate our victory. A new day is dawning."

Draco looked reluctant but he nodded anyway and made his way to the vanishing cabinet and left Hogwarts.

Sasha watched him go and waited a moment before addressing his followers.

"Once we step outside this room, we are on the battlefield. You will act as I tell you, and only as I tell you. If you do not; I will have you executed for insubordination. We cannot afford to fail—not now, not so close to the end. Is that clear?"

They all nodded furiously.

Sasha gave a curt inclination of his head, pleased with the response. "Let's go." He said.

Striding towards the door, Sasha threw it open, wand ready and eyes searching.

Taking a quick look around, Sasha took off at a jog down the corridor, seven pairs of footsteps following him.

They hurried down the corridors, noting the empty quality of them. So deserted, were they, in fact that Sasha was beginning to wonder if anyone was actually there. They travelled for a few more minutes before he was proven wrong.

Sasha skidded to a halt. He scowled when his small group of followers stumbled behind him noisily.

"Sasha Kamanev." Sirius Black had his wand out and pointed at him. He stepped forward in his most impressive Auror stance. Sirius was a master duellist—even Bellatrix had grudgingly admitted it one day. He wasn't to be taken lightly.

Sasha had his wand down by his side, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready.

"Sirius Black," Sasha greeted with a respectful nod of his head, "and Alice Longbottom."

Neville's mother looked at him through eyes hardened with determination. She didn't speak, only thinned her lips and raised her wand higher.

Sasha sighed. "Look, I've no bad feelings towards you. Surrender and we can spare the theatrics; you cannot win this war, but you can spare yourselves."

"We'll _never_ submit to _you_!" Sirius spit hatefully.

They appeared to be a united front; Mrs. Longbottom nodded curtly beside her ally.

Behind him, the small group of Death Eaters shuffled restlessly, prepared to fight and eager to start. Sasha didn't particularly think fighting was the best option. He didn't think he _had_ to.

"This is unnecessary. Whatever about Mr. Black not willing to save himself, I would have thought more of you Alice; you have a _son_ to look after. He doesn't need to be orphaned by Dumbledore's futile struggles. Yield and no harm will come to you or your family."

Sasha had thought he was being the voice of logic; it made sense to him that Alice should think about her son before her duty to Dumbledore. Apparently, however, it hadn't been the right thing to say.

Alice yelled suddenly, and spit out a violent curse. She was certainly showing the fiery spirit that had been laying dormant since her husband had succumbed to insanity. Sasha quirked his head to the side in curiosity, moments before he had to slash his arm down to repel the attack.

"So be it." Sasha muttered, firing his own wordless spell.

Behind him, more spells rushed towards the two Order members, shifting them to a defensive position of setting up shields and taking a few staggering steps backwards.

Sasha didn't let up. He fired a quick succession of curses, all silent, all ferocious and all aimed with deadly precision. Shields barely holding, the two Order members were hardly able to avoid being hit, let alone even _think_ of switching their tactics.

Feeling magic swell and boil over from a place that was both deep inside of him and somehow completely seperate, Sasha grabbed hold of it and used it to the fullest extent against his opponents.

Some days, wordless magic was easy for Sasha, some days a wand was more of a hindrance than a help. On those days, Nature was with him, standing by his shoulder, close enough to brush a stray strand of hair behind his ear. On those days, Sasha felt the magic in the air around him, he saw it glitter in every single thing; as light in a person's veins, strength in a stone wall, the crispness in a blade of grass, the darkness of a starless night. It was beautiful. And tangible.

Today was one of those days.

Sparks that may or may not have been visible to everyone else jumped from the Order's shields and fluttered to the ground before extinguishing themselves on the cold stone. Their magic flickered and fluttered like a distressed bird, flapping its wings against the confines of a cage. Sasha found himself stopping his onslaught to gaze at the strange anomaly.

Idiots that they were, his Death Eaters took it as a cue to cease their own attacks, giving their opponents the much needed opportunity to change tactics.

"_Confringo!"_ Sirius cried, firing straight for Sasha.

Pivoting out of the way, the curse flew past him, rippling the air beside his cheek. One of the Death Eaters yelled in surprise but otherwise seemed unharmed.

"_Defodio!"_ Alice Longbottom flung the curse to Sasha's right, not hitting—or intending to—hit him, but one of the others.

A strangled growl alerted Sasha that the curse had found its mark.

Grimacing, Sasha spared a glance out of the corner of his eyes. "Heal him." He ordered sharply. "I won't accept the death of subordinates."

Knowing that things could not improve from this point unless something was done, Sasha did what was both the most stupid and most natural thing he could have done. He called to Nature and, assured she was with him; he tensed his muscles and rushed his opponents.

Surprised by his actions, both the order members retreated a few steps.

Sasha flung random magic at them. It hadn't been moulded into spells; it was just static energy that he took from the area and charged, pushing at his opponents. It wouldn't cause pain; only a dull beating throb, but the force was enough to push anyone back and keep them off balance.

Waving his hand, Sasha disarmed both of them with a wordless, wandless _Expelliarmus_. He was right on top of them by the time they could figure out he had gotten close.

Sliding to a stop in the space between them, Sasha grabbed both of their robes. Just as they were about to react, to pull back or even attack him, Sasha muttered, "Depulso..." and with a puff of white light, they had vanished, their wands clattering to the ground a heartbeat later.

Sasha stood in the quiet aftermath that always seemed so profound moments after a fight ended. He hadn't killed them, though by all rights he should have. Voldemort certainly hadn't given orders to spare them, but Sasha imagined Azkaban was punishment enough for now. If Voldemort so wanted them dead, he could do it himself afterwards. And besids, Sirius' head had Bellatrix's name on it.

Walking over to their wands, Sasha picked the two discarded weapons up. In one hand he held them, tightening his fist and snapping the wood easily. Nature sighed happily as the magic was released from their cores and returned to her.

Sasha turned back to his group. The injured member looked pale and shaken, trying to stand up while shivering and wheezing out pained gasps. Unimpressed by the attempt to heal him, Sasha turned to the healer. He raised an accusatory brow.

Without having to voice his distaste, the healer shuddered and quickly defended himself. "It was the best I could do on field. If I had my tools I would be able to do a better job. There's nothing else that can be done."

Sasha wasn't about to take pity on the man for something that may or may not have been true. "Leave then." He ordered coldly. "Both of you. If you cannot fight—or otherwise do your job—you're useless. I don't need dead weight. Go back the way you came, return to the camp and your... _tools_ and help the wounded there. Bring him with you."

After a brief hesitation, both the less-than-adequate healer and the wounded man nodded and began a slow, shuffling retreat back the way they came.

"Anyone else want to tell me they can't do their job?" He asked, looking to the now five man group.

"No, my Lord." The said in unison.

"Good." Sasha said with a pleased nod and spun on his heel, taking off down the corridor.

He heard his little minions hurry after him.


	37. Chapter 36

_..._

_Chapter 36_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Hermione smiled reassuringly down at a first year. "It's okay," she soothed, "it's going to be alright."

She had no evidence that it would be okay, but what could she say? Tell the first year that she had no idea what was going to happen? That this was a war and wars were not a time for definite answers. No, pshe couldn't be that cruel.

Huddled for safety in the Gryffindor common room, the majority of the remaining student population shook with fear. Most of the students had been taken from the school once the ministry building had been taken by the Dark. That being said, most parents believed that if their children were muggle-born or even half-bloods, Hogwarts would probably be the safest place for them.

Even still, there had been arrangements to send the students away to a safer place once it became clear that Voldemort was going to attack the school. They hadn't moved quickly enough though, and the Dark was at their gates before they could leave. It was the reason why they had all been herded into the Gryffindor common rooms. That, and most of the ones who stayed behind were Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. There were a few Ravenclaws too, but no Slytherin. Even the Slytherins that were not purebloods were taken from the school, their parents fearing retribution from the other students.

Looking back on it now, Hermione figured that it was probably the best thing to do. It was terrifying here now and with fear came aggression. It was hard enough keeping everyone calm as it was, she didn't think she would have been able to cope with anything more.

Moving away from the first year, Hermione made her way over to Ron and Neville. Both of them were standing near the fireplace, looking as grim and solemn as she felt. As she approached them, Ron gave a small smile, raising his arm and holding it out for her to walk under. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he looked down at Hermione worriedly.

"It'll be alright." He said softly.

Hermione glared. "Oh stop it, Ron," She admonished quietly, "That's the same thing I say to the first years."

There wasn't any real vehemence in her voice so Ron ignored the comment.

They had become a couple a few months back. Actually, it was after the basilisk attack on Hogwarts that they started to see each other in a different light. They found comfort in each other's arms. Neville had found his solace in Ginny—a surprise for everyone involved when they learned of the budding relationship between the two. She was standing to Neville's right now.

It had been Sasha Kamenev that brought them all together. Upon learning of his death, they had only found consolation with each other and had been brought even closer as a result. Of course, they later learned that he was not dead at all, but had been recruited by Voldemort.

It had driven Hermione crazy thinking and rethinking about what must have happened to their friend that he would change his beliefs and follow the Dark Lord. There must have been torture involved. Torture and threats and who knew what else. Even now Hermione shivered at the thought of what must have happened.

Sometimes she wondered about him; how he was doing, if being trapped with the Dark had changed his personality. Was he broken? Would he even be able to recognise them if they ever met again?

Hermione had no answers—something that killed her. She was all about learning things; finding answers for questions, enlightening herself when all others were in the dark, ignorant and unaware of the knowledge they could possess. That was her. It was the reason why she was a prefect, why she was known throughout the school; it was everything to her. But in the case of Sasha Kamenev, she had none of that.

"We have to believe in Dumbledore." Neville told Hermione.

Nodding, Hermione agreed with him. "I know." She whispered. "And I do have faith in him; it's just..."

"It's hard not to think about all the possibilities." Ginny supplied in understanding.

"Exactly." Hermione agreed. "It would be naive not to consider the odds."

They were quiet for a moment, watching over the younger years as they spoke in hushed whispers and worried murmurs. It was difficult for the younger years; they were less experienced, more innocent. Hermione was hurt to see them lose that innocence. One of the greatest casualties of this war. She could count at least forty lives that were ruined by it, and all of them were in that room.

Only forty students left in Hogwarts. The rest had gone home. The older students were tasked with looking after them. So far, it was an easy job. They just hoped it stayed that way; Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix were keeping Voldemort's army at bay, if there were any intruders, it meant that they had been overpowered.

It wasn't worth thinking about though.

"Can't help but wonder..." Neville muttered, "if Sasha's out there somewhere."

Ron's head jerked in Neville's direction. He frowned. "Suppose he must be, if he really is with You-Know-Who."

A sad air fell around them as they each thought back to their lost friendship. It was a loss that still lingered around them.

"Hermione." Parvati Patil said, approaching them with a worried expression on her face. "It's Terence; he's not doing so well."

Hermione groaned. Terence was a third year Ravenclaw that was, apparently, claustrophobic. Particularly so. As it was, he was in the boy's dormitories, shivering in an attempt to stay calm and not freak out.

"He needs to leave here; we can't keep him any longer—he's in a bad state." Parvati told her, angered by the situation and her own helplessness in it.

"It's too dangerous." Hermione breathed, shaking her head, bushy curls lopping about her face.

Parvati looked disbelievingly at her. "You can't be serious? He could seriously hurt himself."

"But—"

"I'm sure it'll be fine Hermione." Neville said. "We'd know by now if there was any danger in the halls."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "it'll be just out to the corridor anyway; it's not like he's going to be taking a stroll around the grounds or anything."

Parvati nodded furiously in agreement.

"I suppose..." Hermione said slowly, biting her lip. "Okay, just be careful."

Smiling brightly, Parvati hurried away to help Terrence Fleet. She dodged and hopped around and over the students milling about the common room, disappearing up the stairs to the boy's dormitories.

She returned moments later, helping a pale, sickly looking Terence Fleet stumble through the room. He had to close his eyes and take deep, shuddering breaths to keep himself from losing it altogether. The students understood his condition and moved out of his way, despite that it was obviously creating space shortages in other areas.

Parvati and Terrence got to the entrance of the common room and opened it.

Freezing suddenly, Parvati grabbed a hold of Terrence, looking wide eyed at something that was out of their sight. Opening his eyes, Terence breathed a terrified curse. The two of them backed up and further into the common room.

Drawing their wands, Hermione, Neville, Ron, Ginny and a few others moved closer to see what was happening. Most of the students hadn't noticed anything, still preoccupied with whatever they were doing. However, just as Hermione gave a startled gasp, the screaming started.

Parvati stared in terror as she was greeted with a wand, a few feet away from her face.

Voldemort's forces had infiltrated Hogwarts.

All hope was lost.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Most of Hogwarts had been deserted.

But Sasha knew there were students there. The Slytherin dungeons had been empty, the Hufflepuff dormitories were as abandoned as the kitchens they were next to and the Ravenclaw tower had a layer of dust an inch thick.

There was only one place left to look.

Upon arrival, a terrified, but insistent portrait of the Fat Lady asked for the password. Sasha had glared at her with every intention of just incinerating the damn thing, but fate would have it that at that moment, the portrait swung open—against its will by the look of the Fat Lady's face.

In its place, was a Gryffindor, who, Sasha remembered after searching in his memory banks, was called Parvati Patil and another student who he didn't remember having seen before.

Shocked at his presence, Parvati froze.

Sasha took that opportunity to point his wand in her face.

_That was convenient_.

As he advanced, the pair in front of him backed up, allowing him entrance into the common room, no fuss, no problem. For the first time since he set the basilisk free, Sasha stepped into the Gryffindor common rooms. How things had changed in such a short time.

He had to admit though; it was almost nostalgic, stepping through the muttering portrait into the common room, his memory recognising the smell and warmth that he had quite enjoyed a year ago. Of course, that was where the similarities ended.

When he had been a student, the common room would have only a few Gryffindor students, sitting on the couches, playing chess or chatting by the long window on the wall. Most of the others would be in classes or outside on the grounds or in the library.

Now, though a lot of the students were Gryffindors, many were also Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And none of them seemed to be enjoying the freedom of their youth either. This was the entire remaining student body and all of them were looking at him, terrified.

Before they could think to draw their wands, Sasha gave a long sweep of his wand arm and with a silent _accio_ called all the wands in the room to him. Forty wands flew from pockets and hands. He gave a disinterested glance down at the floor in front of him as they stacked at his feet and clattered to a stop. None of the students would be strong enough to perform wandless magic; he had disarmed the completely.

"Sasha!"

Sasha turned his head to regard the person who had called him.

Hermione stared wide-eyed, half in hope, half in despair as she searched his person. She was standing beside his former 'friends' Neville and Ron. Ron's little sister, Jenny or something, was there too under the protection of Neville's arm. A pretty gesture, but a pointless one.

Neville was good at herbology—and very little else. He was a nice guy, but he wasn't strong. And he certainly wasn't strong enough to take on Sasha. Now, if he had an army of mandrakes catering to his whim, then maybe Sasha would look at him as something of a threat. But he did not and so, Sasha would not.

"You're alive!" Hermione continued on.

Sasha resisted the urge to frown; he found himself confused that she would be glad to see him. Knowing from personal experience, betrayal hit hard. It didn't matter how small it was—and Sasha's treachery was hardly small. So why was she not spitting at him?

He narrowed his eyes but didn't speak, still aware of the other thirty-six people in the room. Sasha looked over his shoulder to his minions; he nodded to the group of students in a silent order. Understanding Sasha's non-verbal command, the Death Eaters moved into the room, herding the students closer together and rounding them up. Two of the Death Eaters left the common room, one going to search the girl's dormitories and the other to the boy's.

"You don't have to do this, mate." Ron told him imploringly.

"Sasha!" Hermione cried desperately, trying to get some sort of reaction from him. She didn't get much, only a pair of eyes resting heavily on her like dead weight. "What did they do to you?" She whispered despairingly.

Sasha's brow twitched. "What is it," he asked in slight confusion, "that you think they _did_ to me?"

That stopped the golden trio in their tracks. They didn't want to say what they thought... frankly they didn't really know. They assumed it was bad.

"Go on. Tell me." Sasha coaxed.

To say anything out loud, in front of the whole of Hogwarts, it seemed obscene. However, when it came down to it, Sasha _was_ pointing a wand at them—and none too friendly either.

It was Neville who answered. "They took you from Hogwarts that time when the basilisk came," He said solemnly, "did something to you; turned you. We don't know what exactly, but... it can't have been good. That's why you're with him, isn't it?"

As Neville spoke, an amused grin rose from Sasha's lips. The Death Eater's began to snigger sadistically from their places around the room.

It dawned on Hermione before the others. "You were already working with You-Know-Who when you came here, weren't you?" She said.

"I'm surprised your parents didn't tell you." Sasha told them with a smirk. "They've known for long enough."

What was more shocking? The fact that Sasha had never been on their side? Or that fact that their parents knew and kept it from them? Both stung sharply.

Hermione looked at Sasha with horrified eyes. The implications suddenly hitting her. What was worse than his actual betrayal, for her though, was that he still looked the same. His handsome features held no blemishes, no dark marks or evidence that he was not as pure as they thought him to be. He was the same old Sasha. The one who had smiled at her when she apologised for getting too excited about a subject she was well versed in. The same one whose brow furrowed when he was concentrating or that frowned when he was thinking.

But then, had that Sasha ever been real? Was he just a persona made up with the attention of appealing to them, to befriend them? And if so, for what purpose? Hermione's confusion at the matter soured into bitterness.

"Why befriend us, then?" She asked angrily. "Was it just to infiltrate the order? Is that it?"

Quirking his head to the side, Sasha gave a lopsided grin—so reminiscent of the friend they once thought they had. "But you approached me, remember?" He asked with an amused shake of his head, "I wouldn't have gone near you if you hadn't introduced yourselves."

"Then why be our friend?"

"To draw attention away from myself. It would have caught the notice of the teachers if I sat alone all the time. Frankly, you three were convenient." He shrugged. "Didn't even know you were from the Order until you said it; I suspected it, sure. But that—well, it was all thanks to you that I got a look into your little group."

That wasn't strictly true; Sasha _had_ known that the Weasleys and Longbottoms were anti-Voldemort—everyone did. And it followed logically that Hermione, a girl who so closely associated herself with them, and a muggle-born herself, would follow the same ideals. It didn't mean infiltration had been his goal though. Just happened to work out that way. Conveniently, Sasha might add.

He didn't say that to them, though. He certainly didn't have to put the blaim on them. He could have been quiet, ushered them away with the rest of the students. But why bother? It was better to have them stricken with guilt, immobilised by the realisation that it was _their_ fault that they were losing. Strategically, it made sense.

And it worked too; the three of them looked distraught, pale with the realisation that it was them who brought an enemy into their home. It was their fault. No one else's.

"All clear." The Death Eater's who searched the room.

Sasha nodded. "Alright." He said. "You know what to do. Leave these for the moment." He pointed to his former friends.

"How could you do that, you bloody bastard?" Ron's sister snarled at him before anyone could move. "Make them feel guilty for something that's your fault!"

Neville had to hold her back as she thrashed in his arms in an attempt to attack Sasha. "Ginny!" He cried in horror.

An amused grin quirking his lips upwards had Sasha turn back to the Death Eater. "Leave that one too; we'll use her."

As the Death Eaters went around the room, banishing the students to Azkaban, Sasha watched the four he had chosen to leave out of the mass _depulso_ with a little amusement.

"What are you doing?" Ron demanded, shivering in fear.

"What's necessary." Sasha replied. "They won't be hurt."

Ginny—not Jenny—Weasley bit her lip, eyes darting between Sasha and the disappearing numbers around them. Students screamed and cried but most were too frozen in fear or too slow to act. The ones that did proved to be of little trouble and they too succumbed. Once or twice, his personal captives tried to move but Sasha merely cleared his throat and raised his wand higher, quirking a brow up.

"What are you going to do with us?" Ginny asked fearfully.

With all the clambering around, it wouldn't have been unlikely for Sasha to miss her quiet words, but he didn't. He smiled. It was the kind of smile that might have been seen as reassuring, but considering the position they were in and the wand in Sasha's hand, it was less than encouraging.

"Nothing." He said.

Hermione immediately believed him, but then had to scold herself. It didn't matter what she thought; her people skills were clearly not as developed as she believed. She had thought she knew Sasha, could tell what he was feeling, when he was feeling it—and why. In her private moments, she had even fancied she could tell what he was thinking.

That hadn't been true though. She thought she knew him. She was wrong. He had deceived them masterfully. It was a hard blow to her self-perception. The realisation of the whole thing made her look at Sasha with different eyes. Suddenly, he seemed much more powerful. Almost as if a quiet magical aura radiated around him.

It really highlighted how far away he was from the rest. He wasn't like any other student in Hogwarts. He was at a whole other level. And they were at his whim.

"You can't have kept us here to do 'nothing'." Hermione pointed out, her voice warbling.

There was no reply from Sasha. He instead motioned to his Death Eaters as they finished "Wait outside." He ordered.

"But..." One tried to say.

"Just do it." Sasha commanded sharply, scowling slightly.

After a moment's hesitation, the Death Eaters gave a reluctant nod and filed out of the common room efficiently. Sasha waited until he heard the portrait door close over before he even bothered addressing the four remaining students in Hogwarts.

"I really _have_ kept you here for nothing." He told them. "Just a few minutes should do. Sit." He said.

None of them moved initially, staring at him mistrustfully. Sighing, Sasha motioned to his wand once more. Slowly, without turning their backs to him, they shuffled over to the comfy sofas placed around the fire. Sasha flicked his wrist and muttered a "_pulvis res"_ and a white spell engulfed the pile of discarded wands and turned them to a pile of dust that spilled over the floor.

Ignoring the indignant gasps at having their wands destroyed so callously, Sasha moved neared to his former friends, walking past them and over to the fire, murmering a spell that ignited it into a glorious blaze. Turning, he leaned up against the panel of the fireplace regarding the others easily.

"What are we doing here?" Neville asked, frustrated by his helplessness.

"Waiting." He replied simply, crossing his arms.

Ron looked around the room, "For what?"

"For your friends to get settled in Azkaban."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

Sasha shook his head and didn't reply. He wasn't going to tell them his reasons, the plans he had devised. They weren't much, in all fairness; he only wished to instill a little doubt within the ranks. Make it more difficult for the Order's children to rally the other students in some sort of sad, half-baked attempt at a revolt.

The idea behind his actions was that the other students would be suspicious of them for being separated. They had already damned theirselves into association with him by unravelling themselves from the crowd. Now, as the minutes ticked by and they spent more time with him—and less in Azkaban—the students would start to doubt them.

At least, that was the idea. He imagined it would work well enough. Logic didn't always prevail in situations such as these and it was human nature to fear what they didn't understand. The students wouldn't understand that Sasha had pulled them aside for no reason. If they asked and the golden trio said that nothing happened, wouldn't that appear suspicious?

Sasha certainly thought so.

Which was why he decided to do it. From what he could see, it was the easiest way to create disharmony in the little time he had. It would make them all easier to deal with in the long run.

"You really don't have to do this, Sasha." Neville tried again, spreading his hands out peacefully, imploringly, "The Order will protect you from You-Know-Who. You wouldn't have to hurt any more people or anything. We could be friends again and things could go back to the way they were."

Sasha found that particularly funny. He laughed good-naturedly, in the same way that he always used to do when they thought he was just another Gryffindor. It was the same kind of friendly, light-hearted laugh that was the response of a joke or funny incident. The group shuddered at the parallel between now and then.

When he had calmed himself, Sasha looked at them, humour still brightening his eyes, "You wouldn't want to be my friend," He assured them, "what you knew, the person you believed me to be; he wasn't real. Just a role. A part I played to get people to like me.I chose my personality according to what I had to achieve. I needed to be smart enough to do alright in classes, but not so clever that I was the best. I had to be friendly, but distant and quiet enough that people wouldn't pester me about my life story.

"I had to be pleasant." Sasha's features darkened slightly, along with the tone of his speech. He turned to Hermione. "I had to smile at your embarrassed blushes when I caught you looking at me." Glancing at Neville and Ron he continued, "Had to look interested when you told me about Quidditch and Veelas and pranks Sirius Black played on Snape back in the day."

He paused, giving them all a level stare, "I changed myself so that I would be appealing to you—all of you. And it was so easy. Even when you thought you were keeping me at a distance," He shook his head, "I was much closer than you should have let me be. I played you all. And you sang; each and every one of you."

Hermione's lip curled in the anger stemming from her embarrassment at Sasha's revealing of her infatuation with him last year. "What the bloody hell was so important that you had to come here then? Why did you do this? You've ruined everything! Tell me, what was so important!"

Neville and Ron flinched at Hermione's outburst, fearing for her safety from the one person in the room that had a means of defending himself. Sasha, however, was unperturbed by the flare in her temper.

"Dumbledore took something belonging to my master. I was merely taking it back."

"His wand?" Neville asked in confusion, thinking to what Dumbledore could possibly have of Voldemort's.

Sasha shook his head but didn't say anything else to correct him. He didn't look like he was going to speak again.

Hermione puzzled over what Dumbledore could have taken. She eyed Sasha critically. Maybe it hadn't been taken from Voldemort but rather, kept from him. What did Dumbledore have that Voldemort would want? Suddenly Hermione remembered a half-heard conversation she had eavesdropped a few months back after Sasha's supposed 'death'.

They had been in the Potter mansion and Dumbledore was addressing the Order. Barely audible through the thick wood of the door they were crouched beside, Neville Ron and Hermione had only managed to catch snippets of the happenings inside.

"_He... The stone... Basilisk... The Philosopher's Stone... gone... Students dead... No leads..."_

The Philosopher's Stone. Nicholas Flamel's greatest invention. A dear friend of Dumbledore, apparently. It granted its owner longevity. "He wanted the Philosopher's Stone, didn't he?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

Sasha looked at her with a strange expression. "Yes." He said.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to push down the bile that rose as her mind supplied her with the implications of Voldemort getting his hands on the stone.

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Ron questioned, looking between Hermione and Sasha and then over to Neville and Ginny.

Ginny enlightened him to the importance of the fact. "Then Voldemort is immortal?" She asked, her voice quivering with fear and her eyes wide as saucers.

"Immortal?" Ron sucked in a huge breath of air, voice high with terror.

Sasha nodded. "Dumbledore can't win now. It's impossible."

Once again, Sasha was lying. With Galor Palun on his side, Dumbledore had every capability to win. But once again, they didn't need to know that. Despite having lied to them time and tme again, his little 'friends' instinctively trusted him.

They hung their heads, sorrow washing over them with a powerful intensity.

"We're doomed." Ron breathed.

Softening, Sasha sighed, "No," He said, "you're not. Keep your heads down, don't do anything stupid and stay in line and in a few months everything will go back to normal."

"What about me?" Hermione growled. "What about all the muggle borns and half-bloods, what about them? He'll kill them—us—all!"

Sasha raised his eyes as he thought of a response that would neither give away too much of the current events nor would send the girl into hysterics. "This is bigger now. Bigger than just Dumbledore and his petty rebellion. Things that mattered once...have been thrown by the wayside—by both the Dark and Light. Voldemort has more to focus on than just that. Far more important things await him."

"You really are Voldemort's dog, aren't you?" Hermione muttered resentfully.

Green eyes rested on her emotionlessly. He took his time to answer. "Yes. I suppose I am." He said eventually.

There was no malice in his tone. No darkness or bitterness or even any evidence that he had picked up on Hermione's insult. In fact, he didn't seem to find it all that insulting. He had even agreed with her on his position. He gave them a tone in the same easy acceptance he had often used when they were around him. The little reminders of how things used to be stung of betrayal all over again.

"Was there anything you told us that was true?" Neville asked in a tiny voice.

Sasha thought back to everything he had lied to them about. He wondered if he had let any part of himself slip out and become known. Thinking hard, Sasha couldn't remember one single incident where he had. Well, there was one. "My name." He told them with a nod. That was the only thing he had left to be true.

Hanging his head, Neville couldn't believe how well they had all been played. "We trusted you. We _mourned_ for you." He said, mostly to himself as the hollow feeling of regret threatened his very being. Ginny made a sorrowful sound in the back of her throat and put her hand on Neville's arm soothingly.

"Live and learn." He replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders easily.

They didn't demand any more answers from Sasha after that, and he didn't offer up any explanations. They sat on the sofa, staring at their feet or the floor or the fireplace. When Sasha spoke next though, they all looked up. "That should do it." He said.

Pointing his wand at them, Sasha paused momentarily, "Sorry," He said before said the incantation, "_Depulso_" and cast the banishing spell on them. A brief flash of light and they were gone. All but Ginny. He had other plans for her.

Ginny, for her part, sat on the sofa in shock. "Why am I still here?" She demanded, fear giving birth to agitation.

"Get up." Sasha said instead of telling her.

Both indignant and terrified, Ginny shook her head fervently, her long red hair swishing back and forth. "No." She said, scooting back into the chair and making a show of planting herself firmly in it.

Not having the time or patience to coax her out of it, Sasha moved; he was in front of her in three long strides. It didn't matter that Sasha was Shira and therefore stronger, he was a boy and a year older than the Weasley girl. She didn't have much of a hope with resisting him or the hand that grabbed her arm and hoisted her up, dragging her towards the entrance of the common room.

Struggling fruitlessly, Ginny tried grabbing the arm of a chair to stop him. With a sharp tug, eliciting a quick gasp from her, Sasha dislodged her easily. In a further attempt to delay their progress, she dug her heels into the ground and forced her full weight—which wasn't much—against him. Putting only a little more effort in his pulling, Ginny stumbled forwards, off-balance by the sudden movement.

It was then, out of desperation, Ginny lashed out physically at her captor, swinging her fist and catching him on the underside of the jaw. Taken off guard, Sasha was embarrassingly blind-sided by the surprisingly strong fist. His grip loosened enough for Ginny to wrench herself out and make a run for it.

She didn't give much thought to where she was going—not that there was anywhere for her to go. All she knew was what the animal instinct was telling her; and that was to run away as fast as she could. She barely even got time to consider her escape when the breath was knocked out of her lungs as something hard collided into her and sent her sprawling to the ground. Before she could even think to thrash about, a pair of strong hands grabbed her wrists and raised them above her head, holding them in place as effectively as if they had been tied.

Unable to stop herself, Ginny gave the defeated whimper of a creature that knew it was well and truly cornered by a predator.

Sasha licked his lips before he spoke. "We can do this two ways," He told her in a cold voice, "Either you can continue to struggle and attack me and I can cast the cruciatus curse on you—which, trust me, is fine by me—or you can come quietly and conserve your energy for the futile escape attempt you are undoubtedly going to try later. It's up to you, but either way, you're coming with me."

Ginny was quiet for a long time. Just when Sasha thought he was going to lose his patience and perform the curse anyway, she spoke. "What are you going to do to me?" She asked in a pathetic pleading tone.

"It doesn't matter." He replied, not yet letting up on the pressure on her wrists.

"Please... I want to know."

"You won't be hurt; I promise you." Sasha assured her. When she didn't reply, Sasha continued, "Will you come quietly?"

It took another moment for Ginny to react. When she did, she gave a reluctant nod. Sasha let go of her wrists and moved off of her, standing up and brushing himself down, removing any dust from his tumble.

It took Ginny longer to move. Sluggishly she pulled her hands under her and pushed her body up, raising herself to her knees and then standing straight. Keeping her head bowed, she stood in front of Sasha.

Not taking his watchful eyes from her, lest she try anything else, Sasha gently placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the common room entrance.

When they got outside, the Death Eaters where waiting there.

"What are you doing with that girl?" The portrait of the Fat Lady demanded haughtily. "You leave her alone!"

Sasha turned and shot her a dark look over his shoulder. He whipped his wand around and shot a curse at the picture. The curse was slow moving and the Fat Lady in the picture had just enough time to scramble into another portrait before her own burst into flames. Sasha saw her cowering behind a horse in an Arcadian painting up above them but didn't press the matter.

"Take her." He said to one of the Death Eaters, pushing Ginny forward and into the man's grasp. "Let's go."

They moved quickly through the corridors, heading down the moving stairs efficiently and silently. Satisfied that Hogwarts was completely abandoned, Sasha fully intended to just take the first exit and jump into the proper battle.

His plans, however, were not considered as he felt a considerably strong pull in his core. Slowing to a stop, Sasha listened to the voice of Nature and felt the air around him. Why was there something pulling him that way and not the way he needed to go?

Nature muttered quiet warnings and let him listen to the discord that ran through her being like an out of tune violin being plucked when a symphony played a long, soft note.

He knew whatever it was that Nature was warning him against was dangerous. It wasn't difficult to deduce that from her cautioning tone. Yet at the same time he was being pulled towards it.

"My Lord?"

The inquisitive, slightly concerned, voice had Sasha turn around. He looked at the Death Eater that spoke. The man was looking at him with cautious questioning.

"Are you alright?" He asked Sasha.

The question made him wonder how long he had been there. Certainly, he had no sense of time passed. He was sure it couldn't have been more than a minute, but still, he supposed that was odd in itself in the middle of a battle.

"There's something I have to do," he told his men, "Take the girl to Our Lord. Tell him that she's the one we'll use." He paused. "Make sure you don't forget to say that it was _my _order to do so; Our Lord does not generally appreciate being told what to do by his followers and if he thinks you are instructing him you may just find yourself at his mercy."

"Yes, my Lord." They muttered.

Sasha glanced back in the direction that was calling to him so strongly now, "Do not return to me once you have done that." He said, "Just fight against Dumbledore's army. I'll make my own way back."

"Yes, my Lord."

Sasha nodded. "Okay, good luck." He said.

Ginny gave a horrified cry once she realised that she was going to be sent to Voldemort and she began to struggle again. Sasha ignored his Death Eater's attempts to get her moving and turned on his heel, jogging down the way that was so blatantly calling out to him.

Nature was murmuring anxiously.

Sasha followed the pull, pretending that the portraits around him were not emitting horrified gasps and comments as he ran past. He even disregarded the one portrait that muttered "Death Eater scum" as he rounded a corner. Focusing purely on the feeling, he had no time to worry about such things.

It took him by surprise, therefore, when he took notice of his surroundings and found himself at the doors of the great hall. Behind the heavy wood, Sasha knew the source of his feeling was waiting for him. Adjusting the grip on his wand, Sasha held it in the ready.

He couldn't hear anything coming from behind the doors and had no way of glimpsing inside.

Nature was restless, twisting and turning, telling him to leave, to stop and think. It wasn't the right time, go away from here.

He knew he should listen to her… but that pull.

Taking a deep breath, Sasha straightened himself and threw open the doors.

The great hall in front of him was empty; no tables or chairs, only the podium that Dumbledore so often spoke from at the top of the room. He stepped inside and noticed, too late, a flash of movement.

The force of the blow coming from his left snapped his neck to the side and sent him sprawling, skidding across the ground. Thoroughly staggered by the hit, Sasha had to take a moment before he could get his muscles to work enough to pull himself up.

What he saw almost made him collapse again.

The figure was approaching him with lurching steps.

Galor Palun looked poised and eager for the kill.


	38. Chapter 37

Hey guys, hope you all had a good Christmas. Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter.

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><p><em><span>...<span>_

_Chapter 37_

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha knew how to fight with magic; he had an expert grasp on spells and incantations and he possessed the reflexes to evade or block most attacks. He also knew how to fight physically. He was agile, nimble enough to dodge and duck and dive and deal a winning blow. He had strength and smarts and no particular desire to fight cleanly. Victory and survival amounted to the same thing in Sasha's mind and survival was the one thing encompassed all other needs and wants. Sasha knew how to fight and he fought well.

So why was it then, that he felt so powerless against Galor Palun?

By the time Sasha scrambled to his feet, Galor was upon him again; he picked him up by the neck as if he weighed nothing and, grinning maniacly, he threw him away. Sasha's body skidded across the ground, hitting it and rolling and continuing to slide away.

Galor was an older Shira; he was bound to be stronger—but not this strong. He had gotten more powerful since Sasha saw him last.

A sudden flood of panic rushed through Sasha and he managed to jump to his feet, if a little unsteadily. He looked to Galor, standing a few metres away.

He was barely recognisable now; the man had changed so much. A darkened aura flew out from his form at all angles, searching for something to pollute with its intense wrongness. It seemed to swallow him up, reduce him to nothing but a physical puppet, a mere pawn guided by an unforeseen hand.

His skin had turned pale, so thin and weak that it became translucent and Sasha could see veins blackened with stagnant blood on his face and neck and hands. The rest of his body was covered, but Sasha assumed it was in just the same condition. Angry blotches of carmine red marked his once handsome features; over his cheek, his ear, his chin. The whites of his eyes were less white than yellow, infected, and his pupils that were once blue had turned a strangely bottomless black.

Hi body lurched forward and Galor took unsteady steps towards Sasha.

"Mommy won't save you this time." He cackled with a crazed twisting of his putrid, rotting lips. The voice too, had changed. It was deeper than before, more like a gurgle than actual words. And dark. So dark. He didn't sound human—or even Shiran. It was more like some wild beast or... It was more like...

With quicker speed than Sasha's eyes could follow, Galor was, once more upon him, his fist pummeling into his stomach and another hand on his shoulder to stop him from flying off again.

Sasha wheezed and spluttered and, gasping, tried to suck air into his winded body.

This strength, this speed. It wasn't Galor. This _thing_ in front of him wasn't Galor. Not entirely, not anymore. It was Chaos. More than anything, Sasha was suddenly sure that it was Chaos controlling the man's actions. She was responsible for the degradation of his body, the inhuman power, the horrific presence. She had all but possessed him.

He wouldn't have even thought of such a thing, only he remembered when Nature took his body from him in the orphanage; that dark power, that terrible fury. He remembered her voice, coming through his mouth, dark and divine.

The lurching body in front of him, held up by invisible strings, was not Galor. Sasha was sure of that.

"Chaos." Sasha breathed because he could not manage anything more vocal than that.

Galor's head fell to the side and down, regarding Sasha with a blank look. His lips widened to show off a set of teeth that was as yellow as his eyes and as pointed as the man's clawed nails.

The sound of a deep chuckle was like chains being dragged across concrete. "Not yet." The sentiment of Chaos spoke through Galor's mouth, "But soon she will need a vessel… You will help me in this."

Galor reached down to grab at Sasha.

Sasha jumped to his feet and dodged the hand. Skipping backwards as he frantically called for Nature in his head. To his dismay, Nature was not present. He was alone. Magic would be pointless against Galor at this stage; it would only get his wand broken. Sasha knew this. He pulled out his pair of knives and pulled them up to his chest, pointing the tips of their blades to Galor. Shaking, Sasha glared at the traitor Shira.

"Whatever it is," he snarled, "I won't help you."

Galor didn't reply. His lips just split further apart.

Sasha tensed his body, gripping the hilts of his knives tighter and curving his spine in preparation for the speedy attack he wasn't sure he would be able to fend himself against.

Twitching his fingers, Galor once again appeared in front of Sasha as if by teleportation.

This time though, Sasha saw it—barely.

The fist that was aiming for his jaw missed its target as Sasha sank to his knees, throwing his arms out to his side to keep balance. As soon as the fist passed the place where his jaw should have been, Sasha pushed himself up, flipping the knife around in his hand slashing it across Galor's chest before the Shira could jump backwards out of the way.

Galor roared, furious at the long gash running diagonally from his right hip bone to his left shoulder. The wound wasn't deep, but the fact that Sasha hit him was what caused the damage.

Bellowing in rage, Galor moved again rushing forwards even quicker than before. Sasha stumbled back, kept retreating due to the ferocious succession of punches. He managed to block some with his knives and just about dodge the others. Galor's hands were a mangled mess of bloody tissue now but, seemingly oblivious to the pain, he continued his onslaught.

Soon, without realising it, Sasha had backed into a wall.

Sasha's back hit the plaster with a thud and he gasped in shock. Galor struck his fist out once more and Sasha barely had time to duck away from it. His hand smashed into stone, giving Sasha barely as second to slip past Galor.

Before the Shira could turn fully, Sasha snarled and stabbed the knife down, hitting him under the arm and piercing Galor's lung. Roaring in pain, Galor swipped blindly, hitting Sasha purely by chance and knocking him to the floor.

He banged his head as his body bounced off the hard ground and Sasha's brain went black. He blinked furiously, trying to clear the fogginess from his vision. Brain throbbing and blood pounding in his ears, Sasha only barely registered that Galor was thrashing a few feet away. He was reaching for the knife and pulling it out of his chest cavity with a moan and a sickening slurp.

The knife clattered to the ground.

Sasha knew that such a wound should have caused serious damage to Galor. But then, he wasn't nearly human enough to be slowed down by that.

Shaking his head, Sasha pulled his body up and, when he realised that Galor was once again approaching him, he clumsily fumbled for the other knife had dropped from his grasp as he hit the floor.

Still not quite able to bring his feet under him, Sasha glared at Galor from his place on the floor, knife held firmly in his shaking hand.

Galor looked down at him, blood clearly staining the clothes under his arm.

Emotionless, he drew his leg back and kicked Sasha's arm. The knife clattered to the ground. Before Sasha had the time to act and grab it again, Galor had seized him by the throat and picked him up. Spluttering, Sasha clutched the wrist around his neck. He clawed at it but was unable to dislodge the offending appendage.

"I am going to kill you." Galor promised. "But not yet. Dumbledore has not caused enough damage yet. It seems I must help him again since he cannot even do this himself. We will meet again soon."

Sasha hit the ground with a thud before he realised he had been dropped. He looked up at Galor, blinking away the strands of hair that had fallen in his eye.

Galor tilted back his head, closing his eyes as he concentrated.

His aura thickened, the darkness around him becoming truly visible. Deep and impenetrable. It rushed down his form and bled into the floor, pooling at his feet and disappearing through the cracks in the stone like liquid. Very little happened for a few moments, giving Sasha time to rise to his feet and retreat a few steps away from the traitor Shira.

Slowly, Sasha felt a rise in the energy of the room and a rumble beneath his feet. He looked down to find the blackness rise up once more, this time coagulating and turning into shapes, forms, creatures.

They rose to be about his height, standing in humanoid forms, distorted, twisted limbs reaching to the ground while their backs hunched and crooked. Long muzzles jutted out between thick shoulders with large heads and non-existant necks. They snarled and spit and made snorting noises deep and low, as if imitating a huge black bull.

Mangled hands brushed over the ground and twisted into grotesque fists as they moved arbitrarily, bird-like in their twitchy movements matching their skinny, elongated bodies.

There were easily a hundred of them, squashed into the great hall and all trying to crowd around Galor. For whatever reason, they didn't bother with Sasha, too intent on their master.

"Kill them all." Galor commanded in that deep gurgle of his.

The creatures stilled momentarily before letting out piercing screams and leaping into action. Sasha covered his ears with his hands, watching the dark creatures gallop towards the wall and slip right through. They were as insubstantial as ghosts. Sasha's heart fell. How could Voldemort fight creatures like that? Was there even a way to do it?

The last creature vanished through the wall, screeching sharply as it did.

Sasha turned back around to Galor.

The man was looking at him with his unnatural eyes. Seeing Sasha's expression, Galor 'humphed' amusedly and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Do not disappoint me now, Scion." He said in a voice laced with dark humour.

He then turned and strolled away from Sasha leisurely.

Sasha watched him silently, unmoving until he saw Galor reach the door and disappear through it. He waited even a moment or two after that as well. Eventually, satisfied that Galor was gone, Sasha blew out a long, shaky breath.

Feeling a presence, Sasha realised that Nature had returned to him.

"Where the hell were you?" He muttered beneath his breath.

She didn't reply, but then Sasha hadn't expected her to.

"What were those things?" He asked, this time the question was addressed more to himself than Nature.

Despite that, this time, Nature answered in a whispery voice that Sasha could barely make out. "_Minions of Chaos..."_ She whispered in his ear.

Sasha frowned. Nature was aware of this and yet as soon as he needed her help with Galor, she had disappeared. He thought back to the prophecy that Nessus had announced to him in the forest before the battle. Was this the work of destiny? Did Nature _want_ it to happen?

"_This isn't the right time_." Nature had said.

She didn't say he was in danger, she didn't say he shouldn't go in, shouldn't face Galor. She told him 'not yet'. She must have knew Chaos was close, Galor was inside—Sasha was sure she did. But she wanted that confrontation, just not quite so early. And Galor too, had the same feelings.

"_I'm going to kill you. But not yet."_

What was going on here? Why did he feel so powerless and why did it seem like Nature, who should have been his greatest ally, was conspiring against him?

Well, it didn't matter; Sasha wouldn't let himself be led. He was hardly going to leave Voldemort now when they were so close to their goals.

Voldemort...

Sasha stiffened.

Those creatures were heading straight for Voldemort and his army. He couldn't dwaddle any longer. He had to help Voldemort. Breaking into a sprint, Sasha threw open the doors with a push of Shiran magic and rand. It was time he joined the battle good and proper.

It was time to act.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

_[A few hours earlier...]_

_..._

Voldemort surveyed the scene in front of him. Dumbledore's army stood in opposition, their forces seeming unified and strong. They were not. Even from here, at this distance, Voldemort could sense the weakness, the disharmony within the ranks. And why wouldn't there be? They were facing imminent destruction.

Voldemort was confident that he would win.

How could he lose? To his right the werewolf army was snarling and roaring. To his left the centaurs were readying their bows and maces, muttering between themselves and looking a most impressive sight. His Death Eaters were behind him, chanting a war song that was most pleasing in its anti-Dumbledore message. Over the lake, Lucius would soon appear with the Dark's final weapon.

All Voldemort had to do now was take what was his. Dumbledore couldn't hold out too long. Looking at his army, united though they were, their numbers were few. There wasn't so few that Voldemort would scoff at them, but he couldn't envision a future where they would over power his clearly superior forces.

"Kill them all." Voldemort said calmly.

Realistically, only the few nearest Death Eaters could have heard him. Somehow though, motion exploded all around him and simultaneously, both the forces of Dark and Light attacked each other.

It was a glorious sensation, to know that he had caused such a thing; the roar of battle cries, the thundering of hoofbeats and werewolf paws, the energy of countless spells flying past him. The power. It made him deliriously happy. The only thing that could have made it better was that if Sasha had been there beside him, fighting off some opponent with that same animalistic passion that Voldemort found so alluring.

Logically though, he understood why the boy could not be there. It was just unfortunate that he had to wait to watch his ward work. He could be patient though, Merlin knew he had been saint-like in his patience these past twenty years, waiting for his day to come to finally overthrow Dumbledore. So he would be patient and wait for the boy to come back to him. He always did in the end.

A spell hurtled towards him. He lazily lifted his hand and waved it away. Already bored with the challenge, Voldemort gave a level stare at the wizard standing in front of him, full of shaking determination.

Voldemort lifted his wand, giving an uninterested sneer as he killed the man. He stepped over the fallen wizard and moved forward, happy to jump into the fray and seek out some sort of amusement from the battle.

He stepped to the side, evading another curse and retaliating with an _Avada Kedevra_ which he barely had time to aim but knew that it hit its mark.

Moving further into the crowd of fighting wizards, Voldemort began truly.

He flung spells this way and that, not aiming, or bothering to aim his spells, instead firing them blindly knowing by the density of bodies that he was going to hit _something_ either way. Wizards fell at his feet and sides, his immense power suffocating those who were unfortunate enough to come across his path.

Sneering, Voldemort blew the head off of a witch in front of him. She didn't even have time to scream before her body dropped to the ground.

He had created quite a dent in the Light's forces and would continue to do so until he came across Dumbledore. Provided the old man wasn't cowering behind his minions, Voldemort imagined it would happen soon enough.

Voldemort spun on his heel, sensing the attack from behind. Firing a wordless spell into the chest of an auror. The man went down clutching his chest with a twisted face. He shot over his shoulder to hit the wizard who was trying to take advantage of his turned back. The man exploded into flames, screaming and knocking into others around him, the fire igniting the clothes.

For a moment there was a flurry of panicked movement as men and women rushed to extinguish the flames. He was hardly not going to take advantage of that. Thinking of a multitude of horrifying curses, Voldemort leisurely picked each one of them off.

"My Lord!" The breathless call had him look over his shoulder.

It was a Death Eater. One of the younger ones. Normally this would have Voldemort give a casual _Crucio_and watch the young man suffer. He didn't though. Sasha should have been the one to call his name. This was Sasha's group of Death Eaters. Voldemort gave a scowling glance around to check if he had missed the boy.

"Where is my ward?" He demanded.

The Death Eater stilled, looking like a startled rabbit. "He—I, uh... He ordered us to come to you— with the girl." The Death Eater pointed to the struggling red head in the arms of one of the others."

"Where is he?" Voldemort demanded sharply.

The Death Eater didn't answer quickly enough. Stuttering a response that made no sense to Voldemort.

He moved forward. "_Legilimins_" Voldemort said and ruffled through the shocked boy's vulnerable mind.

_They were running down a corridor in Hogwarts. Sasha stopped. His back straight and shoulders cautiously placed back. He stayed that way for a good few minutes._

"_My Lord?" _

_Sasha turned with the scowl he usually had on his features when someone interrupted his thinking. _

"_Are you alright?"_

"_There's something I have to do. Take the girl to Our Lord. Tell him that she's the one we'll use to remind Dumbledore what his fighting has led to." _

"_Do not return to me once you have done that." He said, "Just fight against Dumbledore's army. I will make my own way back."_

_They watched him run off down the corridor, disappearing around a corner._

Voldemort 'humphed' and removed himself from the boy's mind. The young Death Eater lay gasping on the ground, looking pale and exposed. He didn't have time to be gentle searching his follower's mind. The information needed to be attained quickly.

His eyes searched out the girl that Sasha had picked for him.

Bright red hair and brown eyes. Looked like a Weasley. Voldemort couldn't say for sure, but he couldn't imagine Sasha would pick some random child. It would have to have some meaning.

"What is your name?" Voldemort demanded.

The girl, despite looking terrified, swallowed and jutted her jaw out determinedly. "Ginerva Weasley." She spat, eyes flashing.

Voldemort couldn't help but chuckle delightedly. Sasha was such a good boy. He grabbed the girl by the scruff of the neck. "You can go." He told his men. The Death Eater's scrambled away, going off somewhere to fight the Light side.

Casting a _sonorus_, Voldemort's voice amplified and travelled across the battlefield.

"Dumbledore!" He called mockingly. "I grow tired of waiting for you. Face me now and beg on your knees for mercy. Surrender and I will not have to kill Miss Ginerva Weasley and all the other students I now have in my custody. This is your last chance to keep the blood from your hands. I will be waiting." His voice, for being so mocking and mirthful, was ever more sinister.

Ginny struggled against his grasp futily but determinedly none-the-less. Despite her best attempts though, Voldemort's grip was iron-like. It wouldn't budge. She gave a frustrated sob and ceased her struggles.

"Hush!" Voldemort hissed sharply. "If Dumbledore is as righteous as he believes he is, you have nothing to worry about."

"And if he isn't?" She asked in a tiny voice.

It was such a small and pathetic voice that Voldemort couldn't help but take glee in knowing he had evoked it. Still, Voldemort didn't appear to react to the statement and waited, somewhat impatiently, for Dumbledore to show.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Dumbledore heard Voldemort's blatant challenge and paused.

To his right Molly Weasley cried out and fell to her knees, forgetting that she was on a battlefield and clutching her sides as the fear for her daughter reached physical pain. Arthur, who had been a little to the left of her, rushed to her side, firing a curse at a werewolf that was taking advantage of her sorrow. The creature yelped and fell to the ground, stunned.

"Molly, we have to be strong." He told her bravely, eyes watering himself.

He lifted her off of the ground, shooting another spell at a Death Eater who came too close.

"They have our babies!" Molly screamed. "Dumbledore, please!"

Dumbledore watched her sorrowfully. He didn't answer immediately. Molly took this as a bad sign and howled, staggering on her feet.

Remus Lupin stopped his own fighting and glanced worriedly over at the scene before getting distracted with his opponent. He ducked an oncoming spell and fired a counter spell. He had to concentrate on the battle, not worry about this. He had faith in Dumbledore. The man would pick the right path.

But Dumbledore did not have faith in himself. He knew it would be right to leave the children there; he couldn't damn the whole wizarding world to save a few people. Yet, the decision was not so easy to make once he was the one making the rules. Voldemort would _kill_ those children; little Ginny Weasley, her brother Ron, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom. And that was only the children that were in the Order of the Phoenix. All those others. Their deaths were on Dumbledore's hands as much as Voldemort.

He gave one, long, weary sigh.

He didn't understand what he could do. But he couldn't live with himself without trying. He would have to go to Voldemort. Make an attempt to talk the man out of this madness. Hopeless though it was, Dumbledore would have to do it.

"Rest assured, Molly," Dumbledore said quietly, "I will do everything in my power to save Ginerva."

"And the others?" Molly begged quickly, hopefully.

Giving a slow nod, Dumbledore replied, "And the others."

He advanced further into the battle of thousands of bodies. Somehow, he wasn't attacked. None of the Death Eaters looked at him twice. No werewolf went anywhere near him. The centaurs were picking off his army from the fringes of the battle and were no where in the proximity.

It left Dumbledore baffled that Voldemort could have gotten even the centaurs on his side. Nothing short of miraculous in fact. He didn't think he'd ever know how the Dark Lord had achieved such a thing. Dumbledore himself had once gone into the forest and requested assistance of the centaurs. They had told him without any hesitation that if he returned they would kill him. Only Firenze was friendly to him. But even he did not step a hoof into human affairs.

Dumbledore knew somehow, beyond a doubt that win or lose, this war would kill him.

Silently, he advanced towards his fate, cautiously eyeing the enemies that seemed to be pointedly not attacking him. He wondered vaguely if Voldemort only wanted to try and kill him himself.


	39. Chapter 38

Hi guys, so it's been awhile. I'm nearing the end of this so I'm going to try and speed up my posts to get this finished off. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me this long! Enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 38_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Voldemort felt Dumbledore approach.

His lips twisted into a malicious grin. Ginny saw the look and her eyes widened in fear, knowing that this man was truly evil. He would probably kill her just for the fun of it. Would she ever she her parents again? George, Fred, Ron? Neville? She was seventeen, for Merlin's sake, she wasn't old enough to stare death in the face and think about these things. She should be worrying about homework and if she and Neville were ready for the next 'step'. Not if she would ever see him again.

Ginny felt disgusted with herself for the selfish hope that perhaps Dumbledore would choose to save her. She didn't want to die. She was scared. Even though she knew it would be better to keep fighting, Ginny hoped she could somehow be saved.

But then, wasn't Voldemort immortal? How could they win against that? Maybe it _was_ better to just give up now.

"_Dumbledore can't win now. It's impossible."_

Sasha said that. He had _said_ that. Why didn't Dumbledore _see_ that? Why did she have to _die_ for him when they were doomed anyway?

"Please don't do this." Ginny whispered to Voldemort pathetically.

Voldemort wasn't paying attention to her, however; his shining red eyes were focused on the parting of bodies in front of him. There, Dumbledore appeared, looking grave and determined as he stepped square in front of them. He had his wand by his side, ready to draw at a moment's notice. His stance mirrored Voldemort's with a terrifying likeness.

Ginny, overwhelmed by terror, tried one last desperate attempt to break away from her captivity in Voldemort's inhuman grip. The man didn't even seem to notice her vain attemps. So focused on Dumbledore was he, that Ginny thought she could almost chance spitting on him and he wouldn't notice.

"Albus." Voldemort said, smirking, full of arrogance and self-assured humour.

"Tom." Dumbledore replied, gravely serious.

"Let the girl go, Tom, she isn't a part of this." Dumbledore continued, sparing Ginny a glance full of secret meaning that she couldn't quite decode.

Voldemort's hand tightened around her arm. She gave a quiet gasp at the pain. Dumbledore's eyes flickered over to Ginny worriedly, his mouth thinned.

"Oh, but she is, Albus." Voldemort said gleefully, slowly. "She's a child of my direct opponents. This _child_ is the daughter of one of your minions. _Your_ decisions have lead to her fate. I would have her sent away. I do not wish to hurt children, Albus," A lie to be sure, "But how else can I get it through your thick skull that you have lost this war. That your actions are hurting people; innocent children. I am not hurting _her_, Albus, I'm helping _you_."

"Stop this madness, Tom. Please stop this. It isn't too late." The pleading, tired tone of Dumbledore came as a shock to Ginny.

Dumbledore was a man who was idolised by the students of Hogwarts, honoured by the Order and respected by the rest of the wizarding world. This was a man who was seen as the most powerful wizard in Britain—if not the world. He was supposed to be their saviour; the only man that could possibly stand against Voldemort and win. To see him so haggard and defeated...

"It was always too late, Albus." Voldemort replied.

Ginny wanted to cry. She wanted to scream in despair. She thought she could hear her mother's sobs somewhere in the distance. She closed her eyes and felt her heart throb painfully, hammering against her rib cage furiously.

"_Dumbledore can't win now. It's impossible."_

Sasha was right. He had spoken the truth. Not with arrogance or malice, just the simple truth that they were going to lose. She should have listened to him. She should have believed him. If she had, would she have done something different? She certainly wouldn't allow herself to be in this situation. She knew that.

Feeling utterly helpless, Ginny did the only thing she could possibly do. "Please, headmaster," She cried, straining against Voldemort's grasp, "He's immortal; we can't kill him. Please..."

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Listen to the girl, she clearly has more brains that you."

Dumbledore slowly shook his head. "Ginerva," he said, "forgive me, I cannot. I must fight."

"No!" Ginny shouted. "You'll kill us all for nothing!"

"Let the children go, Tom." Dumbledore tried once more. "You don't need them."

Whether Voldemort was going to answer or not would never be known. Two bright ginger heads broke through the ranks. Arthur and Molly Weasley appeared in front of the scene. They looked pale and terrified—as they should.

"Ginny!" They gasped together, taking a step towards her but then remembering Voldemort was there and stopped.

"Please don't hurt my baby." Molly Weasley wept. "Please, I'm begging you."

Voldemort considered this plea for a moment. He was clearly basking in the situation, loving every second of the unnatural power he had over everyone there.

"What would you do to save her?" He asked slowly, sly as a fox.

"Tom! Don't do this!" Dumbledore tried to interject.

"Anything." Molly replied immediately, backed up by her husband's fervent nod.

Voldemort wondered if they truly would do anything. His mind thought up all sorts of scenarios where they could prove their willingness to do his bidding. He saw the desperate look in the woman's face and relished in it. He knew what would be most fun; make them attack Dumbledore and see if the old coot could actually stand to kill them. Then he could torture the girl to death or at least insanity. A delightful thought.

But then he thought of Sasha; the disapproving frown when he didn't agree with his master's actions. No words were ever said against him, but Voldemort knew when the boy wasn't pleased. It shouldn't have mattered that he thought of Sasha in that moment, and truthfully, it didn't. But it made him pause for long enough to realise he could forego his entertainment this time and use this incident to his advantage.

Yes, it would do him wonders to spare these people.

"Kneel before me." Voldemort commanded quietly.

The girl in his grasp made an involuntary noise of protest but otherwise did nothing. She shifted from foot to foot in guilt or horror.

Without even wondering whether they should or not, Arthur and Molly Weasley fell to their knees. "Just don't hurt her!" Arthur begged.

Voldemort took a moment for himself. He marvelled that Dumbledore had not made some move against him yet. In the same moment, he admitted that he quite enjoyed having his enemies bow down to him.

"To prove that I am a merciful Lord," Voldemort announced, "I will not harm you or your daughter. You will have your reunion in Azkaban."

Molly cried in relief. Voldemort had never heard anyone so happy to go to Azkaban. He would kill them later. For now though, this was just a show.

He pushed Ginny towards her parents and, still stumbling from the force, she didn't see him cast the _Depulso Magna_ on her and her parents. She wouldn't even know the spell had hit her until she found herself sitting in an Azkaban cell.

"_You won't be hurt; I promise you."_

Sasha had said that to her in the Gryffindor common room. She hadn't believed him then, but somehow, he had kept his promise. Ginny marvelled at the person that was Sasha Kamenev. Had he known that she would be safe? Or had it just been a lucky guess? Either way, he had been true to his word, she had not been hurt.

Any further thoughts on Sasha's character had been demolished as soon as she felt her sobbing mother throw her arms around her. "My baby." She kept repeating in relief. Her father joined in too, shocking Ginny as she watched the tears slide down his rough, unshaven face.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

With the Weasley family out of the way, Voldemort could concentrate on Dumbledore. The bait had worked; the girl had drawn the man out. Now it was Voldemort's time to hunt him down and skin him alive. Now was the time for his fun.

He grinned maniacally, looking a lot less like a genius than a crazed madman. But then, he, being so close to his long time goal of Dumbledore's head, deserved a certain leniency in the lapse.

"You see, Albus," Voldemort addressed his old professor gleefully; "I could be a good master. You could bow down to me now and I might spare you the death I spared your people."

It was a lie. He doubted Dumbledore would fall to his knees, but even if he did, Voldemort wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of seeing his most hated enemy headless.

"I will not give up. No matter how despairing it may seem, I will continue to fight for Light. Neither I nor Hogwarts will fall to evil." He was tired, his tone suggested he was out of his own comfort zone, but that didn't stop the iron determination in his eyes from sparkling and the grim line of his mouth tightening.

"Not willingly, perhaps." Voldemort agreed. "But enough words. We are not here for words."

In the same instance they whipped up their wands and fired curses at each other. Matching in strength, neither spell hit their target but wisps of stray energy jolted out from the main stream of power. It splintered out to the ground around them, melting the thin layer of snow and singeing the yellow grass underneath it.

They both took a step back, trying to deal with the recoil from the powerful magic. Breaking off from the deadlock, they immediately threw another spell and then another. Knowing that their power was close to each other, Voldemort understood that a battle of pure force would not achieve anything but wearing them both down. But did it really matter if the battle tired him? He was immortal after all and he doubted any other wizard on this battlefield would give him as much of a challenge. Despite that though, Voldemort decided to take the cautious route and make it a battle of strategy. It was more entertaining that way anyway.

Like an old fashioned master dueller, Voldemort gave a flamboyant bow as he skipped back to avoid a lightning shaped spell fired at his feet. Laughing, Voldemort saw Dumbledore's expression. It was so pathetic that he couldn't help himself, delighting in the knowledge that he was winning now.

"Ready to give up yet?" Voldemort taunted.

Dumbledore frowned. "This has barely begun. I wouldn't think to ruin your enjoyment of this chaos."

"You truly are a Light Lord." Voldemort sneered, "_Avada Kadevra_!"

The old headmaster managed to dodge the unforgiveable, but only just. The end of his robes were singed and blackened as he stumbled away from the curse, gasping out his own in retaliation. It was easily blocked with a sweep of Voldemort's arm and a bored stare.

Ignoring the struggle around them, Voldemort and Dumbledore fought. The world narrowed to just them as they exchanged spells, attacking each other with vicious, unrelenting intent. Voldemort knew he was going to kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore knew he had to stay alive so that Voldemort and the Dark could not take over Britain.

Dumbledore fired the blasting curse, a powerful attack that was slightly more difficult to block than the others. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and curled his lip into a sneer. He understood then that Dumbledore was delaying him, drawing out the battle. For what reason, Voldemort couldn't say, but he knew the tactics when he saw them.

It made him deeply, deeply suspicious.

The Dark Lord decided that he would have to end this battle quickly, despite his desire to fully immerse himself in an epic duel to the death.

The casting of his spells quickened each one hitting Dumbledore's shields faster and faster. Sparks flew in all directions in a dazzling display but Voldemort was unrelenting. He advanced, each step he took made his spells hit the headmaster harder. The old wizard was losing ground. Backing up for every step Voldemort took.

"Losing your stamina, old man?" Voldemort jeered.

Dumbledore grunted but did not speak. He couldn't. He was exhausted. Sweat ran down his brow, he had to blink it out of his eyes to see clearly. The exertion caused his hands to shake, his shields to flick and flutter dangerously. Fear spiked through his heart as he conjured the mental image of Voldemort noting this with narrowed eyes. He had let his weakness be seen. The man would exploit it horribly. One did not become a Dark Lord for nothing.

Despite himself and his desire to finish this promptly, Voldemort found the glee rising from his stomach to his chest. He chuckled happily, waving his wand around with more show than was necessary.

Anyone with half a brain could see that the show was not merely derived from Voldemort's enjoyment but his desire to humiliate Dumbledore further. He was making a clear distinction between his own ease and Dumbledore's fatigue.

He continued to fire spells at his opponent, his cloak billowing out impressively around him as did, the energy from his spells and Dumbledore's counter-attacks caused the fabric to trail behind him. He looked like some idealised version of a character in a book. Even the Light side couldn't help but note he seemed like the more powerful of the two. But Voldemort didn't have time to consider his appearance, so caught up with his task.

His attention, however, was violently ripped from the battle when he heard _it_.

It. That sound.

That blood curdling scream that emanated everywhere and seemed to originate nowhere.

No matter what was happening in that moment, all heads, human, werewolf, centaur or other, turned and tried to find the source of the heart stopping screech.

When it came again, this time with more intensity and from what seemed to be many more origins, everyone paused to put their hands to their heads, grunting or even crying out in pain. There was blood dripping from some people's ears. They were on the ground sobbing; their eardrums having burst.

Suddenly there was a bigger threat on the board. Voldemort knew that he would have to thread carefully. He didn't know what he was dealing with, he couldn't prepare for the attack. He had to be ready for when they came for him.

And they _would_ come for him—he knew it.

Such creatures were not in his army.

He looked to Dumbledore. The man was straightening up, a lookof grim satisfaction on his face.

"What did you do, old man?" Voldemort demanded.

"The result of selling my soul." Dumbledore said softly, his voice older and more tired than it should have been—even for someone as old as he.

Unsure as to whether he should continue his battle or conserve his energy for those mysterious things, Voldemort stood there silently. His senses hyper-aware to catch any hint of an approach. He reserved his sight for Dumbledore though, watching as the man gasped and panted into a loose fist.

Studying Dumbledore, Voldemort could see how weak the man was. He didn't know why the old headmaster was so fragile and he wasn't going to take it for granted, but it made him think about how close he was to killing him. He grew agitated when a few more seconds passed and he heard no more from those creatures.

He was on the verge of making the decision to return to his duel when he felt it. The vibrations from the ground that ran up his legs and made his kneecaps shake. The steady beat of a quadrupeds galloping in a herd. This was not the work of centaurs though.

The scream sounded again, closer, louder this time.

There was not a man, woman or creature on the field that did not double over in nauseous pain at the sound.

Through narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, Voldemort forced himself to straighten. He looked out across the battlefield. With everyone now at half height, he saw them.

Involuntarily, his insides shivered.

They were strange creatures, grotesque even, their bodies made out of an inky black substance that glistened as they galloped through the battlefield, slaughtering Dark and Light soldiers alike. Their mangled and twisted arms swung awkwardly, all the more horrifying for their clumsiness. It was their inelegance that made them terrifying. They lopped around like spring foals finding their feet. But with each moment, each action, each pulse of their existence, they reached out and destroyed the living creatures around them thoughtlessly.

Voldemort would not have minded this—in fact, he would have quite enjoyed the sight, had it not been this day, this battle, this war.

He gripped his wand and tightened his jaw, waiting for them to dare come closer. A few metres away from him and Dumbledore was doing the same.

"_The result of selling my soul."_

What had Dumbledore meant by that? Had he brought this...chaos...onto the battlefield? He was killing his own men. Voldemort did not expect him to do such a thing. He said as much.

"Become sick of being so bloody righteous all the time, Albus?" He called over at him.

Dumbledore looked ready to cry. "This was not supposed to happen." He whispered mournfully.

"That's what happens when you sell your soul." Voldemort muttered in a vaguely admonishing tone. It made Dumbledore flinch in surprise.

If they were going to exchange any more words, they no longer had time. A few of the creatures had broken off from the group and were headed straight for the two lords. Both tightened their grips on their wands and shuffled into a better battle stance.

The shadow creatures advanced at alarming speeds. No sooner had they started running and then they were suddenly upon Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes when one went straight for him and jumped at him.

He snarled and fired a curse at the creature.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Sasha ran onto the battlefield and skidded to a stop, taking a look at the carnage around him.

The minions of chaos lopped around like macabre fawns, creating destruction in their jubilant prancing. People, werewolves and centaurs lay broken and bloodied on the ground in snow, patches of grass and blood.

He only spared a moment to take in the scene. The few seconds he took were enough; he saw what there was to see; blood, death, gore and serious trouble for Voldemort's army. Pushing himself into a sprint, Sasha followed the trail of devastation and head towards where he knew Voldemort would be.

He fired a few curses off at wizards who came too close to him but most were too busy fighting for their own lives to worry about his. Because of that, he made good progress, quickly finding Voldemort and Dumbledore, standing near to each other, trying to fend off the creatures desperately. Even from the short time he was watching them, Sasha knew they weren't winning. Sure they were fending them off, but even the darkest and most light curses and spells barely seemed to faze those creatures.

Not entirely sure what he could do to help, Sasha pelted full speed towards his master, desperate to aid.

As he advanced a few more steps, Sasha saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He flung out his arm and jumped to the side just in time to fire a curse and dodge the creature that attacked him. The ground where he should have been standing was singed with a blackened substance left in the wake of the creature's clawed hand.

It looked at him as if there were black eyes against its equally black body. Snapping its jaws, it snarled and yipped and threw its head back to emit a guteral growl. Sasha fully expected it to attack him then, jump at him with teeth and claws vying for space on his face. Instead, it took a cautious step forward and extended its neck. Sasha heard the creature take three deep breaths, its nostrals flared and risen up from its snout. He heard the sound of the air running through thickened black airways. He saw the thing's chest cavity expand and shrink each time.

Unsure as to what to expect from the strange behaviour, Sasha tightened his grip on his wand and took half a step backwards.

The creature twitched it's head and made a strange whine-like sound from its throat. Then it looked over its misshapen shoulder, spied a wizard of the light side and growled, slinking off to stalk the unsuspecting woman it had targeted.

For a brief second, Sasha stood there, confused. He blinked. What had just happened? Remembering where he was and what he had been doing, Sasha shook his head and saw Voldemort, still fighting. He started in a sprint again towards the Dark Lord.

The man was scowling, Sasha saw as he came nearer. He was probably frustrated with his lack of success in defeating those creatures. Sasha couldn't blame him. The most powerful Dark wizard since Grindelwald had most definitely found his match with those things.

Voldemort cast a _Lumos Solem_ at the creature with little effect. It made sense; the creature looked like darkness incarnate and light against darkness seemed to be the most obvious choice. However, this was not nearly as effective as Voldemort would have liked. He looked furious when it didn't work.

Sasha was, by then, at his side.

"They're not made from darkness, my Lord." He murmered as he slowed to a stop beside his master.

"I can see that." Voldemort said between gritted teeth.

Sasha caught the creature's eye then. The thing halted in its advance and acted almost exactly as the last one had. It sniffed him and paused, considering. Slowly, a growl rumbled deep in its chest. It bared its teeth and then sat on its back legs like a dog waiting for a bone.

Sasha scowled. "Shove off." He growled back at the creature.

It wasn't clear whether they could understand him or not, but the creature jumped and twisted in the air, galloping in the opposite direction as it landed on its feet.

Voldemort looked down at him. "How did you do that?" He demanded. There was the tiniest note of disbelief in his voice.

Sasha could help himself. Despite the situation, the horrifying reality that they may not win this, that he might die today, that this was the end, Sasha laughed. "I haven't a clue." He confessed between chuckles, "But you've got to admit; it's pretty cool."

Dumbledore, still trying to defend himself from his own attacking creature, blanched at the glance he managed to take of Sasha ordering that thing away. He wondered how the boy could control these things and what it meant for the Light if he could. Had his sacrifices been in vain?

He had no more time to worry about it though, because then, Voldemort and Sasha turned to watch him fend for his life.

The Dark Lord's eyes shone brightly. He was smirking. "Would you like to consider my offer of mercy, Albus?" He mocked.

Sasha chuckled by his side.

Dumbledore barely had enough time to see Voldemort's hand curl around the boy's shoulder in a gesture that was rather less possessive than affectionate. It struck him as a strange action before he had to stumble out of the way of a swiping claw.

He shook his head, almost distractedly, "The Light cannot lose. I will not let it."

Voldemort's lips rose higher. "I had hoped you would say that." He hissed delightedly.

Dumbledore felt his heart sink despite not expecting anything else from the Dark Lord. He understood what was going to happen; Voldemort was going to use his ward's newfound gift to keep him busy with the dark creature while his master picked him off easily. What a simple plan. What a terrible end for a man such as himself. He had always hoped he would die peacefully, surrounded by long time friends.

Thinking of the battlefield around him, Albus supposed he surrounded by his friends. It was just a pity that they would be dead too.


	40. Chapter 39

_..._

_Chapter 39_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

The sky darkened as the battled raged on.

It could have been a storm coming. It could have been the clouds clumping together, built up with moisture and the jittery energy of the thunderstorm. Yet, there were no flashes of light. No rolling of thunder. There was not an ounce of moisture dropping from the air.

The darkness travelled like a huge, angry entity, sentient in its single-minded direction; straight towards them. Travelling too quickly to be an act of Nature, it could have still been easily mistaken for an advent storm if not for the one bright, blond haired wizard that led the procession.

Lucius Malfoy flew on his broom across Hogwart's lake, appearing as if a gilded hero, his long platinum hair bannering out behind him. He led the huge, tightly coiled menagerie expertly, as if he had somehow become their messiah.

This, of course, became less apparent as he neared the battle.

Sensing the many bodies down below them, the dementors became jittery. No longer gliding through the air in meticulous formation, the swooped and swerved, straining against their orders until finally, the dam broke.

Dementors flew every direction but up. They exploded into terrifyingly serene motion, swooping low over the battlefield to feed in the banquet. Ghosting over the area, they let open their mouths and screeched in barbaric delight at the feast that lay before them.

Lucius melted into the background, no longer noticed by anyone as the dementors froze over the field with their eerie presence. Wizards and witches, stony faced and battle hardened, upon seeing the dementors lost the will to fight or broke their training and turned on their heels to flee. That was on the Light side. The Dark were mostly unaffected. Some shivered and paled at the proximity of the shadow like beings but everyone knew the dementors were on their side.

Sasha watched as the creatures of chaos stopped in their joyous massacres and, heads snapping up, took interest in the new arrivals. Even the creature that was so intent on destroying Dumbledore stopped its onslaught and frolicked away to swipe at the nearest dementor.

It was a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, the creatures were no longer killing the Dark's followers. On the other, they were no longer killing the Light's. That wasn't to say people weren't still getting caught up in it. The creatures pounced and jumped up, swiping for evasive dementors. Anyone who was too slow to move away in time easily got trampled on or received the end of a spindly claw as they arched carelessly.

A curse flew towards Sasha. He flinched and threw up a shield in front of him. The curse hit his protective spell and bounced off, hitting the earth a few feet to the side. The curse had been aimed at him, not Voldemort.

Dumbledore stood there panting, his wand still aimed at Sasha.

"Didn't know Light Lords played dirty." Sasha muttered, his eyes on Dumbledore.

Voldemort moved forward. "Never you mind what Light Lords do," he said, pointing his wand at the headmaster, "I will take care of any Lord that stands in our way and I will destroy any man that targets you. Run along and wreak your havoc. I will find you once I am done."

Sasha nodded, eyeing Dumbledore once more before addressing his master. "Be careful," he said, "this battle is a long way from over and things are about to get tough. Galor's gotten stronger and more insane; he's more dangerous now than he ever was before."

Sasha inclined his head to Dumbledore as a final parting. "Rest in peace, Dumbledore." He said, skipping into a jog towards some place to fight.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha twisted and fired the curse at the wizard who was cowardly enough to attack him from behind. He didn't need to wait for the pained cry to know that he had hit the target.

"Sasha!" A voice called joyously.

Sasha turned.

Bellatrix Lestrange sauntered up, her painfully kitsch dress trailing on the blood-soaked ground, staining the edges of the skirts with all sorts of things better left unmentioned. She was grinning, holding her wand over her shoulder as if it was a sword. Other hand on her hip, she looked less like a warrior and more like someone who had just stepped out to get some air from an invigorating dance. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her chest rapidly moving up and down. She looked as if the dance had been a good one. Yet Bellatrix had not left a dance partner behind her, what she left was a trail of corpses in her wake.

He matched her mood, brightening at her appearance. "Bella!" He said with a grin.

Bellatrix, finding even this funny, threw back her head and cackled, lopping the rest of the way over to Sasha and throwing herself onto his shoulder. Sasha could smell her sweat and the tangy scent of dead flesh. He wondered whose flesh he was smelling and then tried not to think about it.

"I was wondering..." Bellatrix whispered in his ear, eyeing a witch who looked as if she was about to attack them but then thought better of it and hurried out of sight. "If you had seen my dearest cousin... or if he's already dead."

"Sirius Black is very much alive." Sasha said.

A long, gleeful squeal broke through Bellatrix's meeting teeth as she jittered rapidly up and down in delight. "Have you seen him?" She asked.

Sorry he was going to have to run her fun, Sasha shook his head. "I sent him to Azkaban."

Bellatrix's face fell. "What? Why?" She said, annoyance flashing over her features.

"So you can enjoy him later at your own leisure." Sasha replied.

It took a moment for the implications of his words to reach Bellatrix's face. When they did, her features softened before turning into something a little more malicious. She grinned, a glint of insanity in her eyes.

"Weeks..." She whispered with excitement, "Weeks and weeks and weeks."

A tight giggle escaped from her throat.

Sasha's lip twitched. He didn't condone torture, he didn't like it. Having said that, he did enjoy watching Bellatrix be happy.

Shaking herself from her fantasy, her eyes focused back on Sasha, "But what do we do now?" She asked, pouting, "I want to play."

Sasha gave a patient smile, slowly removing himself from Bellatrix grasp. "I'd love to play." He told her. "But now's not the time for games. It's too dangerous."

Bellatrix frowned. "Those creatures?" She asked.

"Partly."

"They can't be killed, can they?"

Sasha shook his head. "Not that I know of, no. They're dangerous. Just be careful."

Bellatrix looked contemplative. "Are they... one of your things?" She questioned.

Bellatrix didn't know what Sasha was. But she knew he was different. She knew he wasn't _human_. Though she didn't have the knowledge or vocabulary to describe his status, she knew he was a part of something bigger, something she didn't understand. She didn't understand the creatures of Chaos either, so she made a connection between the two.

"Sort of," He said, "but they're not as nice as me."

A slow grin spread across her face. "No one ever is, Sasha." She said, reaching over to him and pinching his cheek playfully.

Sasha smirked. "You're such a sweetheart, Bellatrix."

As he spoke, the air behind them fluttered. Sasha turned and broke his eye contact with Bellatrix to look at the new arrivals. Bellatrix followed his lead and shifted, glancing questioningly to the point where Sasha's gaze fell.

She immediately raised her wand and hissed.

The group of Shira narrowed their eyes and tensed, one or two of them baring their teeth, others staying still, stoic and deadly.

"It's okay, Bella," Sasha told her, putting a hand on her arm and lowering it, "they're on our side."

Bellatrix gave a critical look to the group before warily nodding.

"Sasha," Diari Vehgal said, wasting no time, "Where is Galor? I cannot see him."

"I don't know. He summoned those creatures. I haven't seen him since."

The Elder pursed her lips. "Then we go. We will find him. He will not escape his judgement."

Her long robes flourished as she spun away and went in search of the traitor. Most of the Shira went with her.

Only Paveh and Navaa remained.

"Are you alright?" Paveh asked.

"Yes."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No." Galor had hurt Sasha. He felt black and blue, stiff and sore. It was a lie to say that Galor had not hurt him. A lie was safer though. Paveh didn't need to get upset and Sasha didn't want him to go do something...irrational.

Paveh accepted his lie with a pleased nod. "Good." He said. "Where's Lily?"

Navaa huffed and rolled her eyes behind Paveh but didn't comment—despite clearly wanting to.

Sasha's eyes flickered over to her and then back to his father. "She isn't here. She's safe."

Relief seemed to ease his features. "Good," He said again, "that's good. I need you to go there and stay with her until this is all over."

Sasha frowned. "I'm not leaving." He said.

"I'll find you once Galor's taken care of—"

"I'm not going, Paveh." Sasha interjected harshly.

Paveh flinched. He looked hurt and then sad. Sasha hadn't seen his father since before he had heard the news on Galor. He knew it must be hard on Paveh. He suspected that Paveh was grieving for his and Galor's lost friendship. Either way, Sasha was needed here. Voldemort needed him here.

It wasn't in his nature to run away and cower in safety. He wasn't going to do it now—not even for his father. He wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm sorry." Sasha said, softer now. "But I can't do it."

Paveh shook his head. "No. You don't understand."

Navaa stepped up close behind Paveh, almost touching his shoulder as she spoke to him in her exotic, rolling accent. "He has survived Galor's manipulations for years, Paveh; you will achieve nothing through force but losing his friendship. Let him be. The boy can look after himself. We will find Galor and send him back to the cycle, just as Diari said. We will finish this before he become a threat to anyone—not just Sasha."

With a nod to Sasha, she turned and also made her way deeper into the battlefield and away from him, Paveh and Bellatrix.

"Sasha..." Paveh said, his dark eyes full of watery emotion.

"I'll be fine." Sasha promised.

Paveh licked his lips. "If he finds you," he said, "Promise me you won't challenge him. Promise me you'll stay away. I know you won't leave here, but please do at least this for me. Galor is dangerous; he is older than I am and without any of the morals or restrictions I have to hold me back. With Chaos on his side even the Elders are fearful. Tell me you will not fight him."

After a brief hesitation, Sasha nodded. "I'll try my best." He said, not granting his father the promise but not entirely disregarding it either. In truth, he wanted to be able to keep his word to his father, but from the way things were going he wasn't all that sure he had the luxury of choice.

With all the Shira now on the battlefield, if Galor got to him at all, it would be because he had gone through their forces. In which case, he would have no alternative but to fight anyway. Knowing the Shira as he did now though, he hoped that wouldn't happen.

Paveh glanced over his shoulder in the direction that Navaa had wandered off. When he turned back around, his whole body language cried of guilt and helplessness "I have to go." He said, "Nature guide you."

Sasha nodded. "And Balance to you." He replied, having learned a little of the Shiran culture from his time spent with them.

Paveh looked like he wanted to say more, but as his eyes flickered over to Bellatrix, he just clamped his jaw, gave a nod and he too turned and left.

Bellatrix, having been uncharacteristically quiet, broke her bout of silence. "And _who_ were they?" She asked, sounding as intrigued as a cat that just caught sight of an unsuspecting mouse.

"They're like me." He told her, after debating whether he should inform Bellatrix _what_ they were as well.

Eyes on Paveh's quickly disappearing back, Bellatrix asked, "And him?" She mused aloud. "He knew you?"

Sasha took a breath. "He's my father."

"Hn..." Bellatrix made an interested sound at the back of her throat at his words, but didn't comment. She looked as if she had gone deep in thought for two and a half seconds before blinking and turning to Sasha with a wild grin on her face.

"Let's play." She said again, firing her wand off in a random direction, catching some light wizard in the back.

Sasha huffed, somewhat relieved that Bellatrix hadn't pressed the matter of his parentage. He didn't feel like discussing it at that moment and she had spared him the pain. Sasha had his suspicions that it had been intentional on Bellatrix's part.

He was okay with that.

"Alright," he finally conceded, "you're on."

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

The clock ticked with agonising slowness. Diana manoeuvred the cigarette through her fingers, twirling it mindlessly as she sat on her couch, legs tucked under her, eyes on the prone form of Lily Potter.

It was Saturday. Sasha had said today. Today was the day everything ended. If he came back today, his war will have been won. If he loses, Diana would never see him again. Diana had the worst feeling... She couldn't picture it. She just couldn't seem to think ahead and imagine Sasha returning.

Sasha was her brother. She loved him. They had grown up together and he had always been there for her. Diana would not allow him to die. But what could she do? Sasha's world was one of magic and monsters and so much else that she couldn't understand. Even if Diana were to somehow find a way to get to him, she wouldn't be able to help him in any way.

There was one thing she could do.

Diana reached over to the table and stubbed out the cigarette. She untucked her legs and stood up. Fixing her hair, she watched Lily's unconscious form determinately. Making her way over, she reached down and woke Lily up.

She would not let Sasha die.

Lily groaned. Her eyes fluttered and she squirmed on the couch where Sasha left her. As she woke up, Diana watched her.

Sasha didn't want Lily in the battle. He wanted to keep her safe.

Lily's eyes opened. They held a glazed, confused look for a moment before she blinked and slowly began to orientate herself.

"You... you're..." Lily's voice was croaky. "You're Sasha's...friend?"

Lily began to sit up. Diana moved back to give her the space. Lily put her head in her hands.

Sasha thought Lily was worth saving. Diana was sure Lily was a nice woman; she seemed gentle, she seemed pleasant. Diana didn't know why she abandoned Sasha as a baby but Sasha wasn't quick to forgive and he seemed to have done it. Lily was important to Sasha and he had asked Diana to protect her. Ordinarily, Diana would have done anything Sasha asked—without question. Today, Diana was betraying Sasha. To save him.

"Sasha's in trouble." Diana said. "You need to save him."

Lily's head snapped up. Her eyes blazed. Before Diana could blink, Lily was standing, wand in her hand.

In the next instance, she was gone.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Shira did not show emotions. They did not need to. They were strong, they were focused, they were paragons of balance. Shira did not react to anything but their orders. They were tough, perfectly in control. If they did not need to feel, they did not feel. If they did not need to think, they did not think.

So why was it that Paveh felt like crying?

Navaa scoffed beside him. "You are acting as if he is dead." She told him, clearly aggravated.

"He's my son. I shouldn't have left him." Paveh replied.

"He _is_ your son, yes. But he is also a Scion. He is also a servant of that Dark Lord of his. His place is not by you; it never truly will be." Regardless that she was hurting Paveh with her words, Navaa continued to speak, knowing he had to hear this. "You are here. That is what is important. He can find you if he needs to. That—as a parent, as his _father_—is all you can do. So stop looking like a lost puppy and pay attention. You are no good to him dead or injured."

"Yeah, but—"

"We will find Galor and kill him." Navaa interrupted, "We will mourn for him and we will thank Balance for allowing him to return to the Cycle. _Then_ you can worry about your son and work on establishing the relationship you so clearly wish to. Until then, we _must_ stay focused. I am not ready to return to the Cycle just yet. I very much doubt that you want to leave Sasha either."

Paveh looked at her. He knew his expression was sad. But she was right. He had to prioritise. Sasha didn't _need_ him to worry. He needed someone who would have his back if he was in trouble.

He swallowed. "Let's find Galor." Paveh said.

He would not lose himself; not to sorry or pain or worry. He was Shira. It was his duty to keep the Balance, to stop Galor from releasing Chaos, to protect Sasha. Will firmly set, Paveh gave a determined nod to Navaa. "You're right." He said, finding strength in his duty.

"Galor!" Paveh yelled suddenly, "Face us, you coward!"

Navaa stood beside him, hand on her hip, head shaking in exasperation. "You are always so dramatic, Paveh," she admonished without any real heat, "we could have just walked."

Paveh turned to her, grinning. He thumbed his nose and was about to say something when a flash of red caught his eye.

Lily Potter.

She had missed him. She had walked right by him but she had missed him. He had not missed her. Lily Potter was on the battlefield. She was not safe. She was right in Galor's path.

Paveh turned to Navaa. She had also caught sight of Lily. Watching him with a look resignation, Navva shrugged.

"I have to help her. She can't protect herself." Paveh explained.

"Go to her." Navaa said. "I will search for Galor. Find me when you are finished."

Paveh nodded, turned on his heel and ran. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He promised, shouting over his shoulder.

He had to get to Lily before Galor did.


	41. Chapter 40

_Hey guys, I'm back after my long absence with the next chapter. Only a few more now! Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews, they inspired me to work on this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 40_

_..._

Lily appeared on the battlefield, eyes wild, chest heaving. Still dizzy from her prolonged sleep, she stumbled forward, gaze going everywhere at once.

Sasha, she had to find Sasha.

The girl has said he was in trouble; she needed Lily to save him. Lily has apparated out of the muggle home without another word and had sped head first into the fray. He stomach rolled as she forced the nausea down with sheer force of will.

A werewolf roared to her right and charged at her. Lily spun "Sectumpsempre!" She shouted.

The wolf fell down with a pained yelp and did not get back up. She took a step back as dizziness threatened her once more. Now was not the time to succumb to her body's limit. She pushed herself on.

The battlefield howled in her ears, her heart thumped frantically, jumping in her chest. She could feel her pulse in her hand that gripped her wand so tightly. All around her Light and Dark fought valiantly but Lily didn't care about either side, until she found Sasha, they were all potential threats to her. She just needed to find Sasha. She would grab him and take him away from everything. She didn't know why she hadn't acted before but she would not make the same mistake twice.

She ran through the crowds, jumped over bodies, avoided attacks and sent off her own offensive spells whenever someone got in the way. Lily couldn't see herself but if she could, she would have seen that she looked more alive than she had in years.

Her image was so striking that when she found Paveh Drux in the midst of all the chaos, he was staring at her.

"Where is my son?" Lily shouted, snarling, sounding every bit the protective lioness she was.

Paveh blinked slowly, eyes moving to study every bit of her. He walked closer.

Lily raised her wand. "Stay back."

Paveh didn't stop fast enough, Lily, hyped up by the battle threw a curse at him. Paveh reacted, deflecting the curse so that it hit and singed the ground by his feet. Lily attacked again and then once more. Paveh held up his hand in surrender.

"Lily." Paveh said, quietly. "He's here. I had hoped to convince him to return to you. He promised you were safe, away from this battle. I thought I could protect the both of you but neither of you seem to want to be protected."

"I'm here for my son." Lily said, straightening up, squaring her shoulders and showing nothing but utter determination. "He did try to keep me away, but I'd rather die than live with the knowledge that I could have helped him more."

Paveh looked tired but still, he smiled. It was a smile that transported Lily eighteen years into the past. The night they had met under a golden roof in the most majestic splendour she had ever seen. It was a smile that was so familiar it reminded her of home. It was Sasha's smile.

"Oh Lily, there's werewolf and wizard in your hair, blood on your face and mud everywhere else but my god, you have never looked more beautiful. I should never have tried to protect you—look at you, you're a phoenix."

There was nothing but admiration in his voice, not the hopeful infatuation of before or even the resigned hopeless of later. Just admiration. And it had been years since she had heard it. For so long she had been the brilliant but damaged wife of James Potter. Everyone walked on eggshells around her, murmured concerns about her, made suggestions for her. When was the last time she had been treated like a woman? Memories of her life before the heartache came back to her, images of James and her, while they were still young and hopeful and in love flashed before her eyes and when she blinked, her son was before her. She blinked again and it was Paveh Drux.

Somehow, she had not seen the likeness. She had acknowledged the features, recognised certain similarities but it was now, only now that Lily truly saw her son's father. She lowered her wand, ever so slightly.

Paveh looked at her thoughtfully; then, his eyes snapped to the side, narrowing and he burst into action, exploding the witch who was coming up behind Lily, ready to attack. At the same time, James Potter burst through the crowds, seeing Lily, Paveh and his attack but misconstruing the motive.

"Stay away from her!" James screamed, throwing himself in front of his wife. He shouted out an explosive curse straight for Paveh.

Reacting on instinct, Paveh countered the attack sending a burst of power that threw James Potter off of his feet and sent him flying back. He rolled when he hit the ground and stayed still, sprawled awkwardly.

Lily gasped and, with a concern she genuinely didn't realise she still had, she ran to James' side.

"James!" She cried as she skidded to her knees beside her husband. "Oh you idiot, you bloody idiot."

Her chest tightened. Why did he protect her? After everything he did, why did he risk his life for her?

James eyes opened weakly. "Lily..." He whispered.

"I'm so sorry." Lily said, rubbing his face.

James gave a ghost of a smile and his eyes closed. Lily looked over James once more and, deciding that he was both safe and out of her way, she decided to move on.

She approached Paveh. "Stay out of my way. Sasha wouldn't like it if I killed you."

Paveh's eyes stayed on James for a moment longer. Suddenly, he looked as determined as Lily felt.

"No." He said. "If you stay here, you will die. Galor will kill you."

"Get out of my way. I don't care if I die, I will protect my son."

"No. You won't. You'll try, Galor will kill you and Sasha will kill himself trying to save you. I promise I'll look after him."

Lily paused. "I won't let you near him. I love him and I will protect him with my life. You stay away." She shouted.

Something in Paveh's features hardened. "I'm sorry, Lily, truly I am but this is for your own good as much as his."

He lifted his arm and suddenly Lily was blown back just like James. She landed next to him with a thud though the force was less and she wasn't hurt. She scrambled to her knees and reached for her fallen wand. Paveh swung his arm and the wand was flung away.

"No!" She cried as she swiped for it, falling over James' body. She cried again in anger and snapped her head to glare hatefully at Paveh. Lily struggled into a standing position. Breathing heavily she vowed. "I won't let you near him. It's my duty."

Paveh raised his hand again and the air distorted around him. Lily tensed her muscles, ready to jump out of the way.

She started as she felt a hand on her ankle. Looking down, James was staring up at her, weak but very much conscious, tears in his eyes. The distraction was enough. Paveh struck, hitting Lily square in the chest. She was knocked back onto the ground once more but when she hit it, she could no longer hear the clash of the battlefield.

She looked around, confused. She was sitting in a building, old and ruined and one wall missing. Lily looked out and saw a city she didn't recognise. More importantly, it was bright out and the day was hot. Not night and not cold. Lily didn't know where she was, but wherever Paveh had sent her, she was at the other side of the world in a different hemisphere.

A cough startled her. She looked down, surprised to see James.

"Lily, you saved us." He said, still clutching onto her ankle.

James had obviously been carried away with the spell because he grabbed her leg. "I don't know where we are, James." She said.

James grinned, shaking his head and slowly, painfully, moving to a sitting position. "It doesn't matter," he said, "you saved us."

Lily looked at him cautiously, confused. "What are you talking about, James?"

"C'mon Lily, I know I blacked out when I hit my head but I came back towards the end. I heard what you said. You said you loved me, that it was your duty to protect me. And you apologised for everything before I lost consciousness. I knew you still loved me—I knew it. Oh Lily, I am so happy right now. I don't even care about Hogwarts. Let's forget it all, forget Dumbledore, Voldemort, England. I don't know where you've taken us but let's start a new life—a clean slate. We can be happy again, like old times."

Lily stared dumbly at James. He though she had been speaking about her when all that time it had been Sasha. He thought that she had gotten them out of there when it had been Paveh. He thought she had been apologising for everything that had happened between them when she had been sorry he got in her way. He had been so blinded by her that he had missed everything.

Lily didn't want to start a new life, she wanted to get back to Hogwarts and protect her baby. She wasn't lying when she said she was willing to die, she had already decided that she would and had come to terms with the idea. But now her wand was lost and James' too, had been lost. There was no way to get back to Britain in time. She had to trust that Paveh would keep his word and would be willing to make the same sacrifices she was.

She studied James. He looked so hopeful, so young again. Lily remembered a time when she had loved him. She remembered being in love with him. It was a time before the Order of the Phoenix, before Dumbledore and his war. Here, so separate from everything, maybe she could learn to love him again?

She smiled down at her husband. "I love you, James." She said, trying out the part of a loving wife again. It wasn't so bad and James choked laugh and teary eyes made it worthwhile. He embraced her firmly and she returned the hug. "Let's go start a new life." She said.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Paveh frowned. He hadn't meant for James to go with Lily. Despite himself, Paveh would have been quite happy for James to die on the battlefield. Still, Lily was a big girl and she could deal with her own messed up marriage. It was neither Paveh's duty nor his business.

"Are you finished?" Navaa asked, coming up behind him.

"Yes, I suppose I am." Paveh replied.

"We scouted the battlefield. Galor has yet to present himself."

Paveh nodded.

"You did the right thing. She would not have survived this night." Navaa said.

"I promised her I would protect Sasha. To do that, we need to find Galor before he goes too far."

"Let's go. He must be around here somewhere." Navaa said in agreement.

Suddenly, they both felt a disturbance in Balance. Freezing, Paveh concentrated hard.

The fowl stench hit them so ferociously that they both covered their noses. Around them, the humans did not seem to notice, merely continuing to fight as they always had. Navaa and he shared a knowing glare.

"Galor." They said simultaneously, knowing that the stink of detritus was from him and his affiliation with Chaos.

Galor was here, on the battlefield.

"Let's go." Navaa said, running in the direction where the reeking smell was most powerful. Paveh followed, ready for a fight.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

"They only sent one elder for me?"

Diari turned to the voice, sneering. "Galor." She acknowledged spitefully.

Dripping in the stink of Chaos, Galor gave a sinister twisting of his lips, showing his teeth a little at the corners of his mouth. Yellow and disgusting, as if he was rotting from the inside out. As far as Diari was concerned; he was.

"Tell me, elder." Galor drawled, "Why did only one of you bother to come see me? Don't you care?" His words were slurring, his lips slacking ever so slightly. He was beginning to malfunction. Chaos took her toll on even the sturdiest of vessels and they burnt out quickly. Shira were never meant to be vessels to Chaos; their very biological make-up went against the notion. Galor did not have long left before he degenerated to the point of mush.

Diari noticed this and narrowed her eyes as she studied him. "To deal with you, Galor, we did not need for all of us to come down here. I will be sufficient enough to send you back to the Cycle."

Galor's jaw dropped limply as he let out a howling laugh. "Soon, elder," He said breathily, his words coming out breathy and malformed as his jaw hung open, "there won't be a Cycle."

"What are you planning, Galor?" Diari demanded sharply.

He grinned in response. "I'm sick of being Balance's puppet. I want my own life. I will be used by no person, no God. I will be free."

"Chaos will kill you! Her influence will rip your body apart. You will break before you see this future of yours."

"Whoever said Chaos was going to use me as a vessel? I am Shira, loyal or not, my biology could not withstand her power. No, this," He gave a sweeping motion to his deteriorating body, "is only temporary."

"Then what are you doing? Chaos cannot enter this plane on her own account."

"_I_ cannot endure Chaos, but I promised her someone who could."

Despite the fighting going on all around them, Diari only heard the sounds as if she was somehow submerged in water. Her brain worked frantically, trying to deny—and failing—what Galor was hinting at. "Sasha..." She whispered.

Galor smirked. "I will destroy the boy; I will remove every trace of him."

"Kill him? Chaos cannot use a dead host."

There was a knowing smile on his lips as he pulled out his sword. "You will never see what I have planned. I will kill you before then. Be thankful that you will be one of the last things to go to the Cycle before I destroy it once and for all."

Galor moved then. More like disappeared. Diari recoiled and looked around frantically, spinning on the spot, trying not to leave herself vulnerable to an attack she couldn't see coming. A slight tingling in the air and suddenly, Galor was to her right, barely managing to block his attack with her own sword; Diari sneered and pushed Galor away.

"You will not win!" Diari promised. "You may have Chaos on your side, but I have Time and he has not been kind to you."

Galor growled and charged again, hitting down hard with his weapon. Diari matched his moves easily, blocking and dodging as they fought with such vicious speed that no human or centaur could possibly be able to see. Now that she was expecting his violence, she could easily watch him and match the speed and ferocity at which he fought.

This was more than just winning, more than just surviving. This was the fate of the planet and the gods and the future of every single thing, living and non-living. Diari could not lose, she could not fail. Galor had to die. His defeat would give him a better fate then her's would.

They fought. Swooping and striking, evading and eviscerating. Chaos gave power to Galor, made him faster and stronger and able to fight long past the point where he should have. He would be far beyond the abilities of a normal Shira. But Diari was an elder, and the second oldest at that. She was stronger than Galor, faster than Galor, better than Galor—even with Chaos on his side. Slowly, it became more and more clear that Galor was losing.

"Galor!"

It was Paveh's voice that brought the battle to a sudden halt. Both Diari and Galor watched as Navaa and Paveh appeared a few feet away, both with weapons drawn and eyes blazing with grim determination.

"Paveh, Navaa!" Galor laughed joyously, panting in between his words. "How good to see you again! I was hoping you would not miss my ascent to glory."

"Kneel, Galor." Paveh said, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Accept your defeat now and save yourself the shame."

Galor looked angry. He looked furious, in fact. There was a part of Diari that thought he might do something completely irrational for one brief moment. But then, he smiled. "Shall I show you my new powers, hmm?" He asked, his tone light and airy though his voice was a deep gurgle.

No one replied. All of them tensed and watched Galor carefully.

Galor took a step back and, bringing his hand to his face, he clenched his fist in a sudden, sharp motion. It was a strange thing to do, and not at all something any of them would have expected. Diari had just enough to time feel confused when she heard it.

They all did.

Throughout the entire battlefield, Shira cried out and screamed, holding their hands to their ears. That sound. It was enough to burst their eardrums and make them retch. It was Chaos. Higher powers like Chaos and Balance didn't have physical bodies, but they had a presence. Chaos, imprisoned as she was, could do little more than screech. It was enough to cripple the Shira.

Galor Palun stood, grinning manically as he watched his once allies moan and groan and fall to the ground. There was a little blood running down his ear and he didn't walk as straight as he could have, but there was barely any physical effect on him. He walked over to Paveh's prone form, his left leg trailing ever so slightly behind him as he went.

After taking a moment to bask in the glory of having the mighty Paveh Drux helpless at his feet, Galor hunkered down and spoke ever so softly to him. "I'm going to kill your son, Paveh. I'm going to peel the skin from his flesh and the flesh from his bones. I'm going to make him scream and cry out for you. But you won't be able to help him. No. He'll die knowing his father was powerless to save him. And you'll die knowing all your talent, all your genius, was all for nothing."

Paveh screamed. "No!" He barked. "I won't let you!" He struggled helplessly against the onslaught of Chaos' power.

Galor laughed joyously. "Good bye, Paveh, I have a young Scion to kill."

Spitting and cursing, Paveh flailed futilely, watching Galor get up and leave his vision, shuffling into the hoards of people fighting around them.

"Sasha!" Paveh screamed despairingly.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Sasha felt it when it happened.

He didn't know what it was—not like the other Shira who understood immediately—but he felt Chaos in the air and instinctively knew that she was responsible. Nature was quiet. Neither affirming nor denying his assumptions. She stayed at the very edge of his awareness, uncharacteristically stoic and silent.

Beneath her wall of soundlessness was a very slight seeping of worry though. Nervousness, uncertainty. Since the battle had begun, it had been getting worse and worse. Sasha hadn't been able to spot it before—or perhaps he had ignored it—but now that he had time to reflect on it, he realised how strange Nature was acting all of a sudden.

When 'it' happened, Sasha had cried out, startling Bellatrix something awful. She looked frightened for the first time since he had known her.

"Sasha?" She had asked, fearfully, quickly dispatching the man she had been playing with and hurrying over to him. "Are you alright?"

Sasha had quickly nodded his head and told her he was fine, resisting the urge to clutch at his head even though he felt an awful pressure there. They continued to fight then, Sasha somewhat distracted by the turn of events. He barely paid attention to the game that he and Bellatrix were playing and instead worked on figuring out what was going on.

It hadn't taken long for him to deduce the reasons for what had happened and he soon called Bellatrix to a halt—specifically when he felt the sensation get stronger; as if someone was approaching him.

"Bella." He said suddenly, with an urgency that was worrying in itself.

Bellatrix stopped and turned, looking at him expectantly and with eyes that held a rare emotion; concern. "Yes, Sasha." She replied.

"I need you to leave here. Fight somewhere else."

"What is happening?" Bellatrix asked.

Sasha ran a hand through his hair. How did he explain to her what he didn't fully understand himself? He decided to go with the only thing he knew would warrant no further questions. "It's a family." He told her.

Bellatrix did not immediately seem to have heard him. She did not react to statement and instead had the same judgmental look that was so often on her face when she didn't quite hear something. Slowly, her expression deepened into worry. "Are you sure..." Her voice trailed away. She didn't finish asking the question.

"I'll be fine, Bellatrix." He promised her. "But now is not the time for us to be together. I have to be on my own."

There was a pause as they gazed at each other, Sasha full of determination, Bellatrix to the brim with concern and uncertainty and the stubbornness to not leave his side.

"Voldemort will be most displeased if something should happen to you." Bellatrix said quietly.

Sasha nodded. "I understand." He said, "It won't be a problem. I'll meet up with you later."

After giving him once last searching glance, Bellatrix finally relented and gave a short nod. "Take care, Sasha." She said as she turned on her heel and sauntered off, killing some unsuspecting witch with her back turned.

Sasha, satisfied that Bellatrix was out of harm's way, turned to face the thing that was approaching him, quickly now, from the legions of people in the battlefield.

Sasha suspected he knew who it was.

"Hello, Scion."

Galor Palun appeared through the crowds, he had spoken softly but Sasha heard his mocking words perfectly. He watched the Shira advance, slowly shuffling towards him, still managing to look threatening despite the fact that his left leg was trailing behind him.

"Hello, Galor." Sasha replied. "Hello, Chaos."


	42. Chapter 41

_Thanks everyone for the reviews in the last chapter. Only two chapters and an epilogue left now!_

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 41_

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

"Hello Scion."

"Hello Galor. Hello Chaos."

They didn't speak after that. There was no need for words. Galor straightened and rushed towards him, fist flying forwards in a punch. Sasha just about jumped out of the way in time to avoid the hit, growling as he half-crouched, readying himself for the next attack. It came quickly.

Galor spun on his heel, twisting to follow Sasha's movement and lashing out towards him. He was too overstretched though, and Sasha moved easily enough, bringing his leg up and kicking Galor in the side, catching him off balance and making him stumble.

Sneering at the hit, Galor spit at him, whipping his head around furiously.

Chaos was shining through his eyes and Sasha could see her clearly.

"I'll destroy you!" He screamed.

Sasha felt a wave of apprehension at the voice. It tethered on insanity and complete uncontrolled emotion. Despite having spent years in the presence of Bellatrix and others considered crazy by the general public, Sasha found himself anxious this time. It was a different level of insanity. It wasn't the human kind. It was old—ancient.

It was the madness of a goddess who had been imprisoned for eons. The lunacy of a goddess that was close to being set free. Only it was not yet Chaos that he was dealing with. She was just bleeding into Galor's person. He wondered the damage she must have done to Galor to make him so like her.

He didn't have much time to speculate about it though, as Galor attacked him again and he barely blocked the hit. The fist hit his arms and sent vibrations down his body so hard it jarred his teeth. With a great effort, Sasha pushed back with his arms and knocked Galor off balance. Sasha followed it up with a fist to the ribs but hastily retreated as Galor swiped at him.

He was about to try another hit when Nature suddenly rushed at his consciousness. Having been silent for many hours, Nature's sudden decision to make her presence known caused Sasha to frown and create more distance between Galor and himself.

Nature spoke to him.

"_We will help you," _Nature said, considering herself a creature of many beings, _"Let us aid you."_ Her voice was so full of determination and worry that he took note of what she was saying.

"How?" He muttered under his breath as he watched Galor twitch and straighten.

"_Let us in. We will grant you strength. Allow us into your spirit."_

Sasha frowned. "No. I won't give you that control."

He was eyeing Galor and the twitching mess that was now him. He didn't know what the effects of having a higher power possess someone were, but he wasn't going to end up like Galor.

Nature seemed impatient and exasperated. _"We will not take your free will. We are not interested in servitude. We wish for survival."_

Galor's head jerked to find Sasha. With a speed that even Sasha didn't expect, Galor kicked off the ground and hit Sasha in the jaw. He was lifted into the air and skidded onto the ground, barrelling through some random person that had been killed earlier on in the battle—by him, he believed.

The force of the hit rattled his head. Sasha was amazed he was still conscious. He didn't have time to consider it; he jumped to his feet and rolled out of the way of another descending fist.

"_Stop this; you will not end up like the abomination."_ Nature vowed.

The abomination was undoubtedly Galor. Sasha knew Nature probably wasn't lying. But there was fear in his heart. He thought of the prophecy, of the words that Nessus had said to him. He was supposed to die here today. Was it because he had accepted Nature's aid? Perhaps it was because he didn't? He didn't know. He didn't have the answers. He was scared.

Destiny was firmly tugging him in this direction and though he knew he had the power to resist it, he didn't know the right way to do it. The prophecy Nessus spoke of said that he would die. Or at least that he would 'transcend his physical body'. It sounded like dying to Sasha. Was accepting Nature's aid the first step towards that prophecy? Or was it the other way around? Nature, he suspected cared little for life once the Cycle continued and his spirit energy still existed. He imagined, however, that Nature cared greatly about continuing the Cycle.

Sasha figured Chaos' return would have the Cycle in ruins.

It made sense for Nature to protect the Cycle with any means possible. At the moment, Sasha was her only possible means.

Caught up with all this thinking, Sasha missed Galor's fist as it descended into his stomach. He fell to the ground with the feeling of being kicked and beaten. In a desperate action Sasha unleased a bout of Shiran magic which bounced off Galor but had him stumble backwards for a moment so that Sasha could scramble to his feet.

"_Let us help you!"_

Sasha shook his head. He would do this on his own. He didn't trust Nature to save him without taking something from him. He couldn't trust her. It pained him to do it but he had to think about Voldemort too.

"I'm going to destroy you, Scion." Galor's words floated over to him in a surreal fashion. It was almost as if the man hadn't said it at all. His lips didn't seem to move in synch with the sounds leaving his mouth.

Sasha didn't reply. It was an old sentiment that Galor was spouting. It no longer struck terror in him. The man's actions sure did though; the speed was downright scary and his strength was unlike anything Sasha had experienced. The words, however, no longer worried him.

They circled each other. Sasha took cautious steps to try and not trip over any more dead bodies. Galor seemed not to care; his eyes were firmly fixed on Sasha like a crocodile about to rush to the water's edge.

"Did you know that I have the most powerful magic in the universe at my fingers?" Galor asked slowly.

Sasha narrowed his eyes. He tensed his shoulders and waited for what he assumed to be an oncoming attack of some kind.

Sure enough, Galor threw out his arm to the side. The ground around him exploded without any catalyst other than Galor's will. Sasha flinched at the power. Sensing something was up, Sasha stayed quiet and still. Why would Galor show him this? Why not just kill him?

Nature cried out at what Galor did. He tore the ground up and scarred Nature's skin purposely. It both shocked and angered her and she pushed Sasha to let her in. Holding strong, Sasha managed to ward off the goddess. However, with the attack on his head and the threat from Galor, Sasha wasn't sure he could pull this off forever. Eventually something would have to give. He couldn't fight a war on two fronts and he would rather give in to Nature than Chaos.

"But you see," Galor continued, "it won't work on you. Not as well as it should."

Sasha wasn't going to question why; he knew. "Because I'm a Scion and not Shira."

Galor nodded. "Exactly. Chaos won't destroy a part of herself or her daughter. That's why she needs me."

"To destroy me." Sasha finished. "But why? Why is my death so important to your plans?

Galor inclined his head, looking triumphant and smug. "Normally I wouldn't tell you. But I'm in a good mood." He grinned.

Sasha stayed quiet, waiting for Galor to continue.

"Nature is hurt." Galor told him slowly.

Sasha knew this. He could feel her outrage and anguish. Her pain simmered behind all the turbulent fury. She was troubled by this war. By the damage that Chaos' minions had done to her, the magic that had devastated the ground. She was scared and stressed and hitting on desperation. Sasha knew this. He wasn't expecting Galor to, though. How had Galor known this?

"Killing you will just make it all the worse." Galor said.

Sasha frowned. "So?" He asked. Why would that make any difference? Why would he want Sasha dead purely for that reason.

Galor's lips rose but he shook his head. "Actually, I think I'd rather you die in ignorance." He laughed then. It was a horrible sounding thing, like a dying animal that was drowning in its own blood.

Sasha shook his head. He sighed. "Whatever." He said.

"Chaos is growing stronger. Not long now. Only a little while longer. Just one loose end to tie up." He gave Sasha a meaningful stare.

It was obvious enough—if a little over dramatic. Still, it was not a threat to take lightly. Sasha didn't know how powerful Galor was—and he certainly didn't know how powerful he could be if he completely gave himself over to Chaos. It was dangerous to underestimate him and he definitely was not confident enough in his own abilities to overestimate them.

Sasha watched Galor—really _watched_ him. If there was one thing good to come out of that orphanage of his, it was that he had learned how to deal with things that were stronger than him. He was pretty sure Galor fell into that category.

They were still for a very long time, Sasha waiting for Galor to make the first move and Galor enjoying having Sasha at such an obvious disadvantage. Sasha didn't know what Galor was waiting for but the man stood poised, ready for something to happen.

He was growing twitchy by the time that Galor's glazed eyes focused back on Sasha. The Shira's lips twitched and rose and gleefully, Galor announced. "It is time for you to witness my ascension."

Sasha frowned in confusion, but then Galor raised his arms up high and Nature screamed in his ear.

"_Make haste! Allow us access—before all hope is lost!"_

Sasha didn't have time to consider this before Galor struck.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

The explosion shook the ground throughout the whole battlefield. Centaurs immediately stopped what they were doing and looked towards the noise, a grim look on their faces as they each recalled the prophecy they had all learned since infancy.

The were-wolves, sensitive ears that they had, howled at the pain of the blast and the noise caused by it. Whether mauling a corpse or galloping around looking for their next victim, every single one stopped and turned to face the commotion, troubled by the aggressive display of 'whatever it was'.

The minions of Chaos also stilled; sitting back on their haunches and chattering out high-pitched chirps as they all pounced off of the ground and hit it again with such force that their bodies broke apart and turned back into the liquid they originated from. They seeped through the ground, infecting it, perverting the purity that was Nature and the order of her ways.

Voldemort too, was taken by surprise. He paused in his battle with Dumbledore, literally lowering his weapon in mid curse as he glared in the direction of the blast. Instinctively he knew that Sasha was there. His heart quickened and strained against his ribs. He swallowed nervously.

Dumbledore, panting from the exertion, white with fatigue, stood half facing Voldemort, half facing what the Dark Lord was looking at. Instinctively he knew that Galor Palun had something to do with the latest burst of turmoil. It troubled him, the destructive power of Galor, but it was the only way to defeat Voldemort and his ward, Sasha Kamenev who was, according to Galor, even more of a threat than his master.

"Tom." Dumbledore tried one last time, despite knowing it was hopeless. "You can stop this now. Surely you must know you cannot win against such a destructive force. You need only surrender and the lives of hundreds will have been saved."

Voldemort stayed still for a few beats, eyes firmly on the mushroom cloud that was still hovering over where he knew Sasha would be. Acting irrationally would not solve anything; he had to _think_. Soon, his mind supplied him with the only answer it could.

"My ward," he told Dumbledore, "has a knack for finding trouble. I had hoped to fully enjoy this final battle of ours, but I suppose it was not to be. Some things are more important. I will have to dig Sasha out of yet another hole."

Dumbledore was a man in his hundreds. Magic had kept him alive to that age. He was strong and wise and a legendary duelor. But magic could not keep him in his prime. It only worked so far and Voldemort, despite being advanced in his years as well, was still younger than the headmaster.

Despite having only marginal more speed than Dumbledore, Voldemort threw the killing curse straight for him, no pomp, no dramatic finishes or poignant speeches. It was a clean, clear, curse that Dumbledore, too late, tried to guard against—and failed. In a flash of green, the Lord of the Light crumpled to the ground. Ungracefully. Undignified. Dead.

Voldemort barely even looked to see that the curse had hit before he whipped around his body as he rushed towards where he knew Sasha would be.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Sasha hadn't been prepared for what had happened. He hadn't expected an attack and even if he had, he wouldn't have known how to guard against it. This wasn't a physical onslaught. It wasn't magical either. It was something else. Pure power. Pure, unadulterated presence gathered from the Higher Powers and utilised as a weapon against him.

The force of it was staggering. It went beyond words, beyond feeling, beyond comprehension. Sasha was alone on the battlefield now, encased in this sphere of pure intention, wearing him down and ramming at his defences, his mind, his body, his very being. He was trying to hold out against it, but he didn't know how to resist such a thing.

From somewhere far, far away, Nature screamed and yelled, begging at him to let her in, to let her guide him out of this mess. She could help him. He just needed to grant her access. But her voice was getting dimmer and dimmer and soon her deafening cries were little more than whispers in a place where everything was screaming.

He was alone.

There was nothing but white. Everything, white. Sasha knew he was still on the battlefield. He knew his physical body was there in some way. But somehow he knew his mind, his spirit, his soul had been isolated, ripped from the physical.

Galor was here too, with him, but he was just a speck in the distance, a tool of the real creature that was attacking him. Chaos forced her will upon Sasha with all the intensity that an immortal goddess could muster. Her intentions were less to hurt Sasha and more to force him into submission, lead him into the arms of Nature where he would return as a part of her and not as an opponent for this battle. He would leave his body behind.

Even though Chaos' actions did not set out with the intention to hurt, Sasha was in agony. It wasn't physical pain. It hit his very spiritual core, challenged his identity as a sentient being. Sasha could feel the planet open up and whisper sweet nothings into his purely theoretical ear as he was gently pushed away from reality and into an existence of spirit energy.

The voices that were encouraging him to release himself from his physical bonds were growing louder and more convincing. It was Chaos' voice. She sounded motherly and caring and everything Sasha had expected a mother to sound like as a child. The warmth in her voice told him to submit as if she was tucking him into bed.

If Sasha was aware enough, he would have hated to admit that he was swayed by the voice. He would have been livid to know that it encouraged him to inch towards the spectral realm with half a smile on his face. But he neither had a smile nor was he aware enough to hate his weakness and so he was carried by the rushing waves of the powerful encouragement coming from Chaos.

Dimly, he heard Nature's voice, full of anguish and despair, shouting something to him that he, as little more than a disembodied spirit, could not comprehend. It was full of meaning though and images and feelings flashed past his non-existent senses.

Nature showed him the state the world would be in if he yielded. She showed him the torment the living creatures would suffer through before finally dying once and for all. She showed him the Cycle, lying in pieces, tattered and rusted and unsalvageable as pandemonium reigned through the physical and spiritual worlds.

Nature took the vision further. She showed him the corpses of the Shira; his father, Navaa, Diari—everyone. Voldemort was there too; red eyes staring up at a sky burning with disorder. Finally, she revealed her greatest fear; Balance, cowed in a corner, a feeble, haggard old god, awaiting the death that Chaos was leisurely deciding when to give to him.

The image shook Sasha momentarily. In some part of his person that he had left, Sasha understood that Nature feared for her father. If Chaos was released, her father would die. He had often wondered why Nature did not work towards Chaos' freedom—and there it was. Strange as it may seem, Nature, the most successful and powerful goddess of her time, was still a child in the grand scheme of things.

And she was stuck in between her parents bickering. Wanting neither to win, she accepted the separation for what it was; a chance to have both her parents alive. This was why Nature wanted Sasha to help her; she didn't want either Balance _or_ Chaos to be defeated, she wanted them both to stay where they were. That was why she wanted to give him her powers. It was all to avoid the future that she so feared; a future that would leave her progenitors dead. And if Chaos won, and Balance died, Nature too would fall. She was half Balance and without him, she would only be Chaos. Truly nothing could survive while Chaos ruled.

Understanding the situation now, Sasha made a valiant attempt at a struggle, waking up against Chaos' lulling voice. He thrashed and twisted and did everything he could to resist the effects. He fought tooth and nail in an attempt to stay conscious, to stay aware of who he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

It was hard though; Chaos didn't appreciate his rebellion. She pushed back with more force than Sasha could deal with. Despite his best efforts, Sasha was losing himself once more. He found himself slipping. His sentience, his identity, his memories and experiences, all lost to the endless stream of souls and energy flowing through Nature and as a part of the Cycle.

He had barely dipped his toe into the great mass of the Cycle and he was lost.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

There were a great many spectators to the final battle between Galor and Sasha. People; men and women, Dark and Light, wizards and werewolves, Shira and centaurs, gazed at the struggle between the two. Each grouping drew their own conclusions from what they witnessed and could do little more than that.

Galor Palun, eyes rolled back and hair bleached white, stood hunched. He had his palms out in front of him and was facing Sasha. Sasha had begun the battle standing but he slowly sunk to his knees, his body balanced uneasily.

The Shira, beginning to adjust to Chaos' terrible presence—because she was distracted—had enough determination to stand up and move closer to the fight. Paveh was half hunched over, holding his head as his eyes settled on Sasha's unmoving form. His jaw was tight and his eyes were swimming in moisture that was both from the effort of ignoring his pain and the worry for his son.

There was a barrier between the two fighters and the rest of the battlefield. Someone had tried to cross it and had been blown backwards with a frightening ferocity. That person was dead now, it seemed. The Shira, having understood the nature of the barrier, had not attempted to break it. Everything relied on Sasha now. They looked among themselves, terrified.

Voldemort looked on stoically. His face showed no signs of emotions. If Sasha had been aware, he might have been exasperated that the man could emit cold indifference even then. But Sasha was preoccupied and despite physical appearances, Voldemort truly was fretting over his ward's well-being.

He watched. They all did.

Voldemort's eyes were firmly on Sasha. He was so focused that he saw what many others had missed; Sasha's body had swayed ever so slightly. Voldemort frowned and then looked around. He saw the Shira he knew to be Sasha's father. The man had also caught the movement and had blanched. He made an involuntary move forwards before another Shira, a woman to his right, had stopped him with a shake of her head.

Looking back towards Sasha, Voldemort realised that he had something to be worried about there. But what could he do? He could not break the barrier; that would result in his ejection from the immediate area with little more success. He could not reach Sasha or get in contact with him. There was nothing he could do but stand and watch and wait.

For a brief moment, Voldemort truly feared the possibility that he could lose everything.

Suddenly, an almighty roar resounded through the quiet air of the battlefield. Louder and more alerting that he had ever heard, Voldemort instinctively tensed and tried to find the origin of the sound.

Another feral call was soon sounded and most of the warriors on the field were twisting this way and that, trying to find the new threat. The roar was accompanied this time with the thundering _thud_, _thud, thud_ of a heavy body approaching at rapid speeds.

Voldemort's eyes travelled over to the Forbidden Forest and was awarded the first glance at the monstrous beast that had appeared from inside the woods. It was like no creature he had seen before; huge and bulky, like a lion but bigger and with a coat of pure golden pelt. It's hulking, chiselled muscles rippled as it galloped towards the battle, throwing its head back and emitting another roar; a battle cry. Its long, scraggily mane swung this way and that as it thundered closer and closer.

As it neared, many tried to attack the beast. Spells, curses and hexes were fired at it. Seemingly unfazed, the creature ploughed through everyone and everything in its way. It was headed for the barrior where Sasha and Galor were frozen inside. Voldemort tensed, expecting the creature to get thrown back like the others, but it did not. The beast passed through easily. Once inside, it pounced on Sasha in a surprisingly gentle fashion.

Standing over Sasha's vacant body, the beast turned around and snarled, clearly daring anything to try get past it.

Voldemort watched in amazement as Sasha utilised yet another ally that he had not known about.

**...**

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha had no concept of time. He had no concept of self, no concept of anything other than existing and being a part of something so much greater and more brilliant than any individual, mortal or otherwise, could achieve on its own.

He, although was now technically as much 'we' as Nature considered herself, could not feel the boundaries of his being. He was completely free of any physical limitations and somehow everything seemed possible. A group intelligence, however, like the one Sasha had entered into was not concerned with parts of it going off to explore the lack of boundaries.

The Cycle had one goal; to continue existing. Every soul it pulled in to make a part of itself had to conform to that goal. Losing individuality was the price of existing forever, in one shape or other.

Sasha, despite his strength, despite his intelligence and will to survive, was powerless against the great flow of the Cycle. Like a gushing river it carried him away. Sasha existed in a state of non-living for an unspecific amount of time. He was no longer Sasha. He was the 'we'. The Many. In many ways it was peaceful to be so insignificant, to not have anything to worry about or strive for. But Sasha couldn't draw these conclusions, being so non-descript as he was.

Yet strangely, as time progressed, Sasha began to get a spark of awareness. His consciousness flinched at the realisation that he was not the Many, that he was an individual with personal thoughts and feelings and a pulse that came from blood and not lifeforce.

Very suddenly and with a less than gentle hand, Sasha was yanked into awareness.

He was still not fully back in his body; half of him was still floating within the Cycle, but, like a ghost looking down at his body, Sasha saw himself. He was on the ground, underneath the bulky body of the ngen which was growling and subtly pawing him.

Sasha could have cried with relief.

How had he forgotten about the ngen? Nature's guardian. The creature that had cried out for him when he had left her in confinement as he walked away with Hagrid all those months ago. The creature he had thought he chased away. The ngen was as glorious as ever he had seen her—even more so now that she was his saviour.

She had tugged him back into reality. Helped him remember who and what he was. She kept him from being lost by strengthening their shared connection with Nature.

Sasha looked around. The image in front of his eyes was grainy and too bright. Looking down was his body, the only thing he could focus on without much pain. In front of him Galor stood, eyes and hair whitened by Chaos' influence, his palm out and pointed in his direction. He had overwhelmed Sasha; he had literally torn his soul from his body.

They were encased in some sort of sphere. Outside, every one, Dark, Light and Shira stood with their eyes glued on the ngen and Galor.

Voldemort was there.

Sasha's breath hitched in his chest. Of all the other things that he might have forgotten, he shouldn't have missed out on Voldemort—not even for a second. Voldemort was his master as much as Nature, maybe even more so in some regards. Sasha had pledged his life to the Dark Lord. He had trained endlessly and had fought bitterly to help the man achieve his goals.

He couldn't fail now. He _had_ to get back in his body. He _had_ to take control and defeat Galor before everything was lost.

A low rumble had Sasha glance down.

The ngen was looking at him with her intelligent amber eyes. Communicating in a way that he had only experienced with Nature, the ngen revealed her stance on Sasha's predicament through the mental connection that he and she, as Scion and ngen, shared through Nature. There were no words with this type of communication; they were beyond such trivial things as words. Sasha just _knew_ what the ngen was telling him.

She would sacrifice all for him. He had to find a way back to his body. She would buy him the time to do that. Ngens were powerful things. Galor would have his hands full. But Sasha would only have a short time to safely return. The ngen could not guarantee she could last for any length of time against a minon so close to Chaos herself. But she would not waver. Sasha _had_ to get back into his body. He had to defeat Galor. He was the only creature that could now.

Sasha sent his gratitude towards the ngen and gave a subtle nod.

The creature did not hesitate; her gigantic muscles tensed for the briefest of moments before, in one single leap, she pounced on Galor Palun. The speed was so impressive that Galor had not even the time to register the movement, let alone dodge it.

Momentarily, his control of Chaos' power faltered. Sasha felt some of his strength return. With a spare glance to Voldemort he knew what had to be done. This time, it was he who sent himself out of the physical realm. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew this but putting a soul into a body was a lot like having a broken limb; sometimes it had to be broken to be fixed.

Sasha, in the semi-physical state he had been in was never going to return to his body. He needed to thow himself backwards, his soul balancing on the edge of the Cycle. This time, he kept Voldemort in mind; he kept the man's face, his body, his ideals and beliefs, his scent, his touch all at the front of his consciousness. He wouldn't lose that.

Somehow, it worked. He stayed a part of himself. Closing his metaphysical eyes, Sasha searched out his body, feeling the heat, the energy, the specific signature of the biological machine.

_There_!

He found it. The sensation of being pulled along with something much more powerful than himself was similar to apparation in a way.

He returned to his body with a breathy moan. Lying on the ground, Sasha looked out at the world through half lidded eyes. It took a moment for the sky to stop spinning. He was cold, so absolutely freezing that he had to make a conscious effort to stop his teeth from chattering.

A sharp roar from the ngen reminded him that he did not have time to sit around. With monumental effort he eased himself into a seating position and then up onto his feet. Outside of the barrier were murmurs and shouts, cheers and jeers. But Sasha didn't notice any of those things. His eyes were set on Galor and the invisible target on his forehead.

Sasha couldn't hear Nature. He could feel her in the very depths of his mind. Huddled with her eyes closed as she slowly gave into despair.

As he took heavy, determined steps towards Galor, Sasha wondered why that was important. Galor wanted Nature's despair. He wanted her hurt and afraid and alone. But why? What good could that possibly do?

Words whispered from the recesses of his memory suddenly drifted to the forefront.

"_No matter what happens you are my son— and a mother always protects her child; no matter what. Even though we're on separate sides of a war, even if we believe different things, there is nothing that could keep me from loving you, from protecting you."_

Lily had said that. In relation to him and her, obviously, but the words rang through his head and echoed there. Why did those words, that sentence right so clearly through his mind? A mother always protects their child...

The sudden realisation hit him so hard he almost ended up in the Cycle again. Chaos was Nature's mother. Galor was threatening Nature. By driving her into despair, Nature would call out to her mother.

_Blood calls to Blood. If that fails, Blood calls to Kindred. Finally, Blood calls to the next nearest creature._

Paveh had told him that. He said it was the rule of the Shira, but then, weren't the Shira the product of the gods? Nature's anguish would call out to Chaos. Sasha should have been the next to hear her cries as he was close to Nature too but by then he would be dead and the goddess would have nowhere to turn to but her mother.

And Chaos would descend.

_...a mother always protects their child; no matter what._

A mother's love, a mother's sacrifice; it was supposed to be the most powerful thing in existence, wasn't it? And that was from humans. Imagine it in god form. There wouldn't need to be a sacrifice, just sheer will. It could push through any barrier, any prison. Chaos would swoop in to save her daughter and once she did, she would be free to wreck her havoc.

Galor had known this. It had always been his plan. For years, decades—maybe even centuries. He had set his plans in motion seventeen years ago when he had approached Dumbledore and whispered in his ear, telling him of a plot to kill Voldemort once and for all. The orphanage had been his idea. Galor had suggested it.

He had intended to use Sasha as bait, to draw out Paveh to his side. The man had admitted as much himself. But why? Eying Galor's decrepit body, Sasha figured it had something to do with that. Paveh had always been better than Galor, faster, stronger, quicker. He, driven by anger and grief at the death of his son, would have been the one to take Chaos into his body. He would have lasted longer and Galor wouldn't have had to go through the degeneration of his body.

But once again, Sasha's existence changed things. Paveh wasn't consumed by revenge and Galor had had to take Chaos unto himself. It was the reason he was falling apart; he wasn't strong enough to house Chaos for as long as he had been. But Sasha was. Being half Chaos himself, his body had a natural tolerance for it. That was why Galor had captured him, why he hadn't killed him when given the chance. Why he had tried to remove Sasha's soul but leave the body. Sasha was supposed to be Chaos' vessel.

Sasha's sudden clarity had come from the Cycle. He didn't know how, but it had left something on his soul. He had been imprinted with the knowledge that all elements of the Cycle share. The Cycle knew what was happening. Despite not being sentient, it had the knowledge of every creature that died, every plant and rock that withered and eroded. It knew. There wasn't anything it could do with the information, but it knew. And now, so did Sasha. Not everything, just snippets. But knowledge, and the power that came with it, was both terrifying and energising.

Sasha eyed Galor with a newfound optimism. Defeat Galor and Chaos' plans would be foiled. All he had to do was stop one man—just one—and everything would be fine.

Slowly, Sasha pulled out a long, curved knife, a remnant from his street days. He had every intention of slitting Galor's throat with it. The ngen snarled as Galor punched it in the stomach. She bit down on the Shira's arm and crunched until all three of them could hear the bone snap. Galor didn't seem to notice apart from a slight scrunching of his face. He was too far gone to even register such damage to his body.

Just as Sashsa decided it was his time to strike, Galor flung a blast of chaotic energy straight into the ngen's ribcage. The ngen gave a screech of pain and was hurled backwards, skidding over the grass at speed. She fell out of the barrier, her bulky body completely motionless. She did not move again.

Sasha gasped at the effect the ngen's pain had on him. He was usually level headed, strong in a battle and focused on winning. Normally, he would have attacked his enemy already. Now though, his eyes kept flickering over to the still ngen.

Galor sniggered a few feet away. "Thought your _dog_ could defeat me? Thought you had a chance? You may have survived my last attack but you won't do it twice."

Galor raised his arms as if to target Sasha again. Sasha knew he had to act. He threw a random burst of energy at Galor, taking the man's moment delay as an opportunity to get up close. Arching his knife upwards, Sasha aimed for the throat. By the time his arm was high enough, however, Galor was gone.

He spun on his heel. Sasha's head twisted and turned, looking for the man. A blur to his right. Lift your hands, Sasha. Block. A hit to his arm, not his head, at least. Galor went missing again. Where did he go? Behind him. Sasha dropped to the ground, kicking off the surface to propel himself upwards, twisting his body around mid-arm. Galor was gone again though.

He had gotten faster. It seemed impossible but it was true. Chaos must be close. So close. Too close. Sasha couldn't keep up. By the time his eyes had registered the movement to his left, Sasha was already on the ground, dazed. He wheezed as the hard ground knocked the air from his lungs. Despite the pain, the confusion, the weakness, Sasha jumped to his feet and, misjudging the distance, stumbled forward as he rushed Galor once more.

Galor was ready for him. With mocking ease he stepped to the side. Sasha stumbled to a stop and striking an ill-aimed hit in the general direction. Galor laughed.

"Little Scion can't keep up. Might as well give in." He whispered into Sasha's ear as he appeared behind him again.

Sasha growled and spun, lashing out and managing, by the pure grace of god, to knick Galor's arm. A slight cut dripped blood to the earth. Galor examined the cut with narrowed eyes and attacked.

In one instance Sasha was standing on his feet. The next, he was on the ground, landing awkwardly on an elbow twisted in a way it shouldn't be. He cried out in shock. His voice wasn't loud, more hoarse than clear. Sasha knew he had to get up. His arm ached. His head hurt. His lungs screamed. He had to get up.

"So long Scion. The Cycle won't let you escape twice."

Galor teased as he watched Sasha struggle to his feet. Before Sasha could act, he once again called forth Chaos. Sasha lasted a moment longer this time. But inevitably, he was no match. He felt the anguish of having his soul ripped from his body twice in one lifetime. It was twice too many.


	43. Chapter 42

_Thanks for all the support for the last chapter! This is the big finish of the battle. I really enjoyed writing this one so I hope you like it!_

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 42_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Sasha struggled.

He struggled for everything. He fought against Chaos pushing him backwards into the Cycle. He thrashed against the Cycle that wished to devour his individualism. He resisted the overwhelming urge to become a part of the flow of life, one of the Many.

Sasha imagined his body into existence so that he could physically fight in a metaphysical battle. He thrashed and wailed, kicked and screamed against the smoky tendrils that rose up from the Cycle and pulled at his soul.

Despite knowing how to fight this time, the battle was harder. Galor had been right; the Cycle did not want to let him go again. A living thing might wander into it once—and that was excusable. But twice? It was asking for trouble. The Cycle would not be taken advantage of. It pulled Sasha as if it were a clingy lover. He would push one appendage away only to have it replaced with another equally determined tendril.

Time did not matter to the Cycle and it was different from reality. Centuries in the Cycle were seconds in the physical world. It was how it was so successful with sucking everything into itself. It was the reason why Sasha found it so difficult to resist.

He spent what must have been years retaining his physical image, reminding himself of himself.

"My name is Sasha Kamenev." He shouted out to the Cycle. "I am a Scion. I am a servant of Voldemort and I will survive."

He spoke of many things, over and over again. He yelled and screamed and cried out about his life, his memories, his stories, until he made himself hoarse. He whispered and gasped when he could no longer speak. He breathed his experiences when his voice was taken even further. When there was nothing left, only silence, he closed his metaphysical eyes and replayed the memories in his metaphysical head.

He made some of them up. He imagined his birth. He imagined Lily Potter holding him in her arms and calling him "Harry." He imagined James Potter standing over him and never suspecting that he was not his son.

He wondered what would have happened had Galor not been there to whisper in Dumbledore's ear. Or if Paveh had not called Lily away from her home the night he was conceived.

Sasha imagined he knew what would have happened. He could see it as clearly as if it was taking place right in front of him. The boy that should have been him, but was not, was called Harry. He looked like his father. James stood cradling his son in his arms, Lily, watching delightedly over his shoulder.

He saw images in front of his eyes, play time and bath time and feeding time and bed time. He saw a night of terror. A darkened figure appearing at the door, long spindly fingers stroking a wand Sasha knew so well. Voldemort said "_Aveda Kedavra" _and Lily fell to the ground in a heap.

Voldemort took slow, purposeful steps towards the boy that was not Sasha, looking down at the child with distaste.

"Stop this." Sasha croaked, his throat constricted and damaged from all his screaming. But the images did not stop. Sasha didn't want to see this. This wasn't what he had meant to happen. The scene took on a life of its own. He was no longer making these up; he was being shown them.

Back in the picture there was a familiar flash of green and Voldemort was destroyed with a scream. Fast forward and the boy called Harry was eleven years old, living under a staircase in some strange variation of Sasha's own childhood horror, The Room. But this boy was not beaten, he was not threatened. A bit underfed, a little under-loved. Such things did not kill children though.

A letter from Hogwarts. Lots of them, flying around a room that didn't welcome Hogwarts or the letters that came from there. The boy, Harry, was jumping, catching them as if they were fifty pound notes floating to the floor.

Hagrid. A train journey and a boat ride across Hogwarts Lake. The sorting. Great power, Slytherin could have made him great. He chose Gryffindor. He _chose_ it. Why? A red-headed boy. Ronald Weasley. Sasha knew him. Sasha had betrayed him for Voldemort. That didn't seem likely to happen there, though.

The Philosopher's stone? Only someone who does not wish to use the stone can find it. Sasha knew this tale. But why could he take the stone when this professor, this Quirrell, could not? Quirrell wanted the power, the protection that Voldemort could give him. Sasha wanted the stone. Just the stone. To give away. Because Voldemort wanted it. There was no gain to him, no reward. A deformed, defeated Voldemort. A sad sight.

A basilisk. A hippogriff. Sirius Black; convicted felon and godfather. Quidditch—of all things. A Tri-wizard tournament. A graveyard and a reborn Dark Lord. A dead body and a body of lies. A battle in the Ministry of Magic. A prophecy. A hunt. Horcruxes. Four. Five. Six? How many could Voldemort make? What had he done to himself? Twisted aberration. Sasha could barely recognise the creature in front of his eyes.

A rebellion. A fight between friends. A love scene. A wanted poster. A hunt. A forest called Dean. A golden snitch that held a strange message. A final battle. A sacrifice. A death. A horcrux in him. In Harry.

Sasha watched as the boy that was him but not him fought against Voldemort. He watched as his master died from a rebounded Killing Curse. Sasha felt his pain. Sasha cried out silently for the death of his master. He watched bitterly as the boy he should have been but wasn't, was surrounded by overjoyed friends and followers.

He gazed hatefully at his life, nineteen years later, no scar, no worries. Domestic bliss. A Weasley wife. A handful of children. Not a care in the world. Sasha watched knowingly as Harry Potter died and, some years later, the world felt the effects of his life. A cancer. A tumour growing. Light had won. But where was Balance?

The Shira could not fix what they could not see. The domino had been knocked over. He should never have come back from death. It was different with Sasha. Even now. This struggle. It wasn't real. His body was alive. This person, this man, this boy that was not him, he had _died_. The Cycle could not accept losing what it had such a firm grasp on. Sasha was _alive_ and even then it was unwilling to let him go. Damage done, Harry Potter had killed the Cycle. Two birds, one stone. Bastard...

Sasha understood now. He understood why his father had been sent to stop the birth of such a menace. Harry Potter was poison. Sasha, for all his choices, his questionable actions and loose morals, had never, _ever_ presumed to cheat death—just to stay away from it. His life had a purpose. It changed the very fabric of the future. _Everything_ was possible now. The planet would not die because of some final battle on the field of Hogwarts between the boy and the Dark Lord. A battle lost either way.

But wasn't Sasha in a final battle on the field of Hogwarts fighting some other type of Lord? Wasn't alternate history mirroring itself? What was the difference?

Sasha could sum it up in one word. Balance. Sasha would keep Balance. He would make sure that Chaos never saw the light of day. He _would_ kill Galor Palun. He would destroy him. He just had to figure out how. And he had to somehow find a way out of this mess he got himself into.

Sasha lashed out and thrashed about again; employing a tactic he knew would not work but would, fortunately, buy him some time to think.

And he did. He thought. He racked his brains for some sort of solution.

Then, quite suddenly, the answer was illuminated.

The Cycle, in all its infinite wisdom, would have the answer. Willing or not, it would give him the information that he needed because it was a part of him and he was surrounded by it. That was why he had learned of his alternative version. He had wondered and the Cycle had supplied the answer—unwillingly, unthinkingly. After all, the Cycle didn't have consciousness, it didn't have sentience. It was just a matrix, a system, for souls and energy. It was a tool, a device. Nothing more. It was meant to be utilised. Sasha would use it.

He dived into its knowledge. He tore apart its libraries and categories. Swept through millennia of information. He learned of things he didn't need to know. He learned things no living creature could know.

In his search, he found not the answer he was looking for but the key that unlocked the solution which had always been in his own mind, nurtured by the information he had dissected.

He needed Nature. Alone, he was powerless. He wasn't strong enough to break free from the Cycle. He _needed_ Nature. Concentrating hard, Sasha worked on finding her. She had to be here—at least partly; the Cycle was, after all, made possible because of her.

Searching, searching, searching. He found her.

"What do you want?" Her voice was sharp, irritated.

Sasha turned in surprise.

He wasn't exactly in the Cycle anymore. Or at least it didn't seem that way. He was in a field. There was a sun, coloured strangely red and hanging over him far too closely. It was a warped image of nature. Barley grew in this field and the hip-high crop was all that stood between him and Nature. It wasn't much of a protection.

Nature didn't have a physical form, but here she appeared to Sasha as the outline of a woman. Her darkened colours bleed into everything around her like a watercolour painting moved before it had time to dry. Her hair was made from the same tendrils of the Cycle only they were darker wisps that moved as if there was a breeze blowing at half the normal speed.

She was angry. It radiated off her ominously, as dark as Chaos herself.

"You called us." Her distorted voice said again. "What did you want?"

"I need you to get me out of here."

Nature laughed. It was a bitter, lonely sound, like a seagull in a storm. "All hope is lost." She told him. "Our Mother will be freed soon. It is kinder to leave you here."

"No." Sasha denied, shaking his head. "I can beat Galor. Just help me get out of here; I know I can win."

"You have already lost." Nature told him. "The ngen we gave to you is gone. She was your last hope."

"She's dead?" Sasha asked, stopping in his tracks.

"Not yet. But soon. Once Chaos comes she will be the first of our possessions to go. You will be after her. And then...she will consume us."

"It won't come to that. It's not too late."

Nature was silent for a very long time. Even here, Sasha could feel her exhaustion, her despair, her anger. She was close to giving up. She almost had. "It is." She told Sasha. "It was too late the moment you refused our aid."

"I had to refuse." He said, defending his actions. "You were willing to sacrifice me to stop Galor. Admit it; I would not have survived the possession."

Nature lifted her head higher. "It is true. It was likely you would return to the Cycle but it would have assured our victory." She said it accusingly, as if this was all his fault.

He supposed it was.

"You are not my only master," Sasha said, "you don't get to decide when I am to be sacrificed or not."

Nature snarled. "We are the only master that matters. That human is _nothing_! We could destroy him with a thought."

Sasha watched Nature carefully. He knew he was playing with fire. "Then if you're so powerful, why are you hiding here? Why aren't you facing Galor and Chaos and standing up for yourself? Why give up?"

"You know nothing! You _are_ nothing. We cannot fight Chaos. She is more powerful than any other god. She is the original ruler of the universe. This world is her birthright. Our father, Balance, took it from her grasp. She will not be denied her right."

"If you can't fight Chaos, then let me!" Sasha growled. "Isn't that what I was made for? Isn't that what you wanted me for?"

"You were meant to prevent Chaos, not fight her. You failed. Your time is over."

"Of course I failed," Sasha argued, "I was told nothing. How was I supposed to know what I was meant to do or why? How was I supposed to fight something I didn't know about? You led me like a lamb to the slaughter. How was I supposed to win a battle I didn't know was coming?"

Nature took an angry step forward. "You forget your place. You are a servant. _Our_ servant. You did not need to know!"

Sasha scoffed. "Because _that_ worked so well."

"Your grandmother was a better servant than you are. She would not dare speak to us as you have."

"I am not my grandmother." Sasha said. "Sounds to me like you should have had her stop Chaos, not me."

Nature was clearly furious; it reverberated around her like disrupted hornets. "She was not stong enough to attempt such a battle. And you, it seems, were not loyal enough."

Sasha flinched at Nature's accusation. "I'm _trying_ to be loyal. I'm _trying_ to help you. But I can't do that here. There is another way to win against Galor—I'm sure of it."

Nature's anger drained from her being. She looked to the skies of her own making. "It is too late" She said again. "Chaos comes."

Panic unfurled in Sasha's chest. He thought of Voldemort, waiting for him in the physical realm. He thought of the danger he and Paveh and Navaa and all the Shira and all the Dark Army were in. He shook his head as he felt the ominous trembling that meant that Nature was telling the truth.

Chaos was almost here.

"Please!" Sasha cried out. "Please let me help you. Take my body then, take it. I won't fight you. Please. Just don't give up!"

Nature shook her head. "A sweet sentiment, spoken too late. All hope is lost."

Sasha rushed towards Nature in hopes of shaking some sense into her. Her grabbed for her arms and stumbled forwards as his hands went through her purely theoretical body. "No. Stop this." Sasha begged.

Nature hung her head, not replying to Sasha's desperate plea.

Sasha spun away and put his hands to his head, gripping fistfuls of his dark hair. He clenched his jaw and scrunched up his face as he desperately grasped for any way out of this. He _had_ to do something. He couldn't give up. So much counted on this. He couldn't give up. He just couldn't. He thought back to everything he had learned from the Cycle. He went over everything he had learned from his own life. There had to be something.

But he couldn't find anything and Chaos was approaching rapidly.

He could feel her now. Her presence thumping through the air like a vulture's wings over a dying animal. He had to stop her.

But there was nothing he could do.

If only Nature would fight. If only he had given his body to her when she asked. It would have meant abandoning Voldemort but hell, if it meant the man could live what was really wrong with that? He had pledged his life to both Voldemort and Nature and yet, when it came down to it he had not given it up for either of them. He was an idiot.

If only Nature could fight...

...If only...

Sasha stopped his panicked pacing, slowly looking over his shoulder to where Nature stood, gazing towards the direction her mother was approaching.

Nature. He needed Nature on his side. And she, whether she knew it or not, needed him. Nature couldn't fight her mother. Sasha could. Sasha did not have the power to stand against Chaos. Nature did. Together they could do this.

Sasha knew what had to be done. Something told him he could do it. The Cycle assured him it was possible. It had never been done before—not even attempted. But then, if there was ever a time to try something reckless and downright ridiculous, it was now.

Sasha silently apologised to his master. It was likely she was not going to appreciate this, but it would save all of them. It would save the Cycle. And this time, for the first time since it was conceived, the Cycle was aware of the danger it was in. It encouraged Sasha to do something no other creature had attempted to do.

After taking one last critical look to Nature and finding her suitably distracted, he struck.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha awoke, gasping a lungful of air.

He was violently shaking as he sat up. His eyes fell on Galor's quickly disintegrating form.

Sasha felt strange. Not bad. Not wrong. But strange. Different. And he was jittery. He had too much energy with no way to let it out. Considering what he had just done, it meant it had worked.

Sasha would have chanced a delirious grin at his achievement but there wasn't the time. Galor was almost finished his life's work and Chaos would be upon them at any moment. Sasha got to his feet carefully; arm out to the side to hold his balance. He didn't know how long he'd been out but he wasn't taking any chances; he didn't know how a body was affected by what he'd been through. Vaguely Sasha wondered if his body had been receiving air in the time he was absent. But everything seemed to be working fine and Sasha could find nothing immediately wrong with himself.

At his movement, Galor realised that Sasha was still alive. He stared at him with barely restrained fury. "How?" He demanded. "How did you escape the Cycle? Nothing has ever escaped the Cycle before."

Sasha's lip twitched. "It's a day for firsts, I think."

Galor watched him with narrowed eyes and a jaw that looked ready to shatter his teeth. Rage shook his body for a brief moment until Galor physically let it go. "No matter." He said, half mumbling, "You are too late. Chaos is almost here."

"I've heard that a few times today as well." Sasha said.

Outside of the sphere, Sasha could almost feel the stares of Voldemort and Paveh and the rest of them. Nessus was somewhere to his right, shouting something Sasha could not make out. His voice was distorted through the barrier. There were others speaking also, but they too were drowned out by the magic that surround both him and Galor.

The happenings of outside were irrelevant anyway. Here was where it was at. It would all end here.

"Let's see if we can't finish what we started earlier." Sasha said to Galor, hunching his shoulders in a way that suggested he was ready for the hunt.

Galor's lanky frame seemed to curl in on itself as he positioned his body to take on Sasha. "Let's." Galor agreed, sneering.

They both moved at the same time.

Before, Galor had the upper hand. He had been faster, stronger and more in touch with his master. Now, Sasha was easily keeping up with him. Galor moved to hit him with a fist that would pulverise the bone in his face but Sasha easily grabbed onto the hand with his own and struck out with the other.

Not expecting either the block or the attack, Galor had a dumb look on his face as he was hit to the ground. Sasha was ready to follow it up with another attack but Galor moved out of the way in a sloppy roll. In retaliation to this, Sasha threw a burst of unspecified magic at Galor, sliding him across the ground more than the Shira would have liked.

Sasha went to attack once more but Galor jumped to his feet and snarled, sending his own magic at Sasha, making him dive to the side to dodge it. "You've gotten stronger." Galor said in a voice that was half-way between spiteful and curious. "How?"

"I think I'd rather you die ignorant." Sasha retorted, mirroring what Galor had said to him earlier.

Galor hissed and threw chaotic magic at Sasha in fury. Sasha dodged it easily and threw hisown brand back, moving just behind the spell to attack physically as well. Galor saw both attacks coming and blocked Sasha's fist. He pushed Sasha away and went for a punch to the ribs. Twisting to the side Sasha brought his right arm up and gave Galor a wild thump to the head. Neck snapping backwards, Galor didn't see the knee that came up and was planted in his stomach.

Galor, although probably winded, didn't hesitate to deal a counter blow, managing to rapidly strike Sasha in the chest before he could move out of the way. Stumbling back, Sasha saw Galor take a much needed breath to steady himself before attacking again with the same force and speed Sasha had come to expect from him.

Sasha supposed they must have looked quite impressive. They matched each other well. Their physical strength, their speed, their determination and strength of will. They kicked and hit and magicked and dodged their way around the barrier and back again.

For the most part, it was fast. Faster than many human eyes could follow. Sasha found almost pleasure in the fight, despite knowing how grave the circumstances were. Fighting with Galor he was getting an outlet for all that energy he could not get out beforehand. He felt _good_. He felt strong. He felt like he could take on the world, like he could take on Chaos.

Chaos...

He couldn't let this happy feeling take over his common sense. He had to stay focused. Frowning a little as he ducked and missed Galor's attack, Sasha chided himself for forgetting—even for a moment—the stakes he was playing for.

Summoning up his determination and his iron will to protect Nature and Voldemort, Sasha figured it was about time to end this before Chaos took her chance.

From his crouching position, Sasha swept Galor's legs out from under him. The man fell to the ground with a thud. Sasha quickly pried a short knife out of the waistband of his trousers and flicked it into his hand. He slide over to Galor's side and raised the knife high above his head.

He drove it downwards the moment the sky bled black.

Galor spluttered and coughed up blood as he stared down at the knife protruding from the bottom of his throat. He looked shocked that he had been defeated. His face changed as his eyes flickered up to Sasha. He let out a gurgling laugh, blood swelling up out of his mouth and pooling down the sides of his face. "You're still too late." He told Sasha gleefully as he choked on his own blood.

Sasha watched Galor dying with hard eyes, his body tense and barely breathing as he wondered if the Shira was going to miraculously recover. He didn't. Sasha saw the light fade from his eyes.

He became aware of cheers by all the Death Eaters as they realised Galor was dead. Voldemort barked out orders for the soldiers of the Light Army to be taken into custody, not allowing his followers their much needed celebration.

Once that was done, Voldemort met Sasha's eyes. They exchanged a quick look and Sasha had to frown, shaking his head sadly. It wasn't over; Chaos was still near and not growing any weaker. Stronger, if anything.

"Sasha!"

Sasha looked up to the sound of his father's voice. Paveh was moving towards him quickly, taking long strides to approach his son. He didn't look happy; he knew the battle was not won. Taking a quick look at the rest of the Shira, it confirmed his suspicions. They all seemed to know that they were still under threat.

"Sasha, get away from him!" Paveh shouted, now running towards him, motioning wildly.

The barrier had flickered away with Galor's death, but just as Paveh approached where it should have been, Galor's body twitched. Sasha's head snapped downwards. He jumped to his feet and retreated a few steps backward.

The body of Galor Palun had stopped twitching and was now convulsing, flopping about like a dying fish. Sasha's eyes flickered nervously up to meet his father's before they were separated by a scream emitted past Galor's dead lips.

Light, horribly bright and utterly white erupted from Galor in all directions. Utterly blinding, Sasha had to cover his eyes with his arm. He took a few involuntary steps backwards as the intensity of the light felt like a physical push against his skin.

Those few steps probably saved his life.

The light cleared immediately and Galor's dead body was standing where Sasha had been seconds earlier. It was as if he was a puppet held up by string. His arms hung limply down by his sides, his shoulders pulled back and up, supporting most of his body. He still had the knife protruding out of his neck and his blood had blackened and thickened so much it looked like tar, seeping slowly down his front, dripping onto the ground in front of him.

Sasha reared back a few more steps, eyes wide with fear and intense concentration.

Even though Galor's head was down, his chin touching off the blade in his throat, Sasha knew that it was Chaos' eyes shining through the Shira's sockets. Galor was dead and gone. This was Chaos in front of him.

At an agonising rate, Chaos slowly raised her head, her shining eyes firmly lifting to Sasha. "My daughter's wayward child." Chaos cooed through something that clearly wasn't the mangled mess of Galor's throat.

Sasha stiffened and repositioned his body to ready himself for anything Chaos might throw at him.

"Cat got your tongue, precious?" Chaos mocked.

Sasha clenched his jaw and unclenched it. "Hello Chaos." He said, his voice a little more breathless than he would have liked.

Chaos gave a pealing laugh. "My daughter does find the most amusing playthings." She teased.

Sasha pursed his lips but didn't respond. Over Chaos' shoulder, Sasha could see the Shira lined up, looking both terrified and eager to fight but unable to. As soon as she had descended on Galor's body, Chaos had erected a barrier around them. Sasha had missed it, but that had partly been the reason for the white light and why Sasha felt such physical presence in it.

"It's a pity she cannot find one that's strong enough to protect her." Chaos continued. She had a voice that was silky and sly. Silky like a snake's body and sly like weasel waiting to steal a nest of eggs. She was poisonous. Sasha understood why Nature didn't want her back.

"Who says I'm not strong enough to protect her?" Sasha asked.

Chaos blinked, surprised and then burst out in raucous laughter. "I enjoy you." She told him. "I would almost save you until I had more time to savour peeling the skin off your bones. You deserve my special attention for being so...adorable. But, you are in my way and I have a kingdom to reclaim. This body will not last me forever, but yours will do nicely."

Chaos lashed out with a speed and strength that would have killed him mere hours earlier. But not now. Now he had changed. Now he was different. He was stronger, faster, better. He was a whole other type of creature.

Chaos balked. She had not expected their exchange to last more than one hit. It was clear to Sasha that she didn't think of him as a worthy opponent. "How?" She snapped, much like Galor had demanded not that long ago.

"Like I said, I am strong enough to protect Nature." Sasha gathered his strength and pushed Chaos back a few feet. She watched him warily, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure him out.

She started to stalk around him. Sasha stayed where he was, senses always alert and his body always ready to respond. "No mere servant is strong enough to stand against me. Not now."

Sasha didn't reply to what she said. Chaos didn't seem to want him to either, she was musing aloud, nothing more. After doing a full circle around him, Chaos stopped in front of Sasha again. She studied him intensely, ignoring the shouts from the Shira that were trying—unsuccessfully—to have Chaos attack them and to save Sasha. Sasha didn't need saving though, not yet anyway.

The field around them was a lot emptier than before. Most of the remaining Light Army had been rounded up and carted off. There had been quite a few casualties on the Dark side too.

Chaos stepped a little closer to Sasha and sniffed. Sasha tried his best to stay stoic as the goddess came so close. "You smell of my daughter." She said. "Too much like her." She spoke slowly, the words coming out as if they were clues themselves. They were, too.

"What _are_ you?"

"I am the Scion of Nature." Sasha said.

"No. Not as much as you should be. You are something else now. You are..." She closed her eyes and took another, deep inhalation. "You are too powerful to be a mere servant. You should be emptier than you are. Your body should be receptive to Nature's powers; but you should not have them. Yet you do."

Sasha nodded. "Nature wanted my soul," he explained, "when I did not give it to her, she despaired."

A look of horrified understanding dawned on Chaos' face. Sasha took a little sadistic joy from it before he continued. "I needed power—"

"So you took hers." Chaos finished with eyes so narrowed they could have been closed. There was no anger in her voice when she called him a thief. Only a reluctant respect when she said, "You would be more suited as my servant than hers."

Sasha didn't quite take the compliment. "Nature needed me. I just helped her on my terms. I will defeat you. I will send you back to your prison."

Chaos lunged for him with fury, spitting and screaming as she clawed at his face and body. Sasha dodged the attacks and blocked them, getting in a few hits of his own. Chaos jumped at him again and again, assaulting him in a blind rage at what Sasha assumed to have stemmed from his apparent impertinence at his presumptuous statement. He matched her attacks and had at least as many hits and misses as she.

When they broke apart from each other, both were somewhat worse for wear. Sasha had four long scars, red and angry, running down the left side of his face. He was lucky Chaos had missed his eye or he'd be blinded at best, eyeless at worst. He was sure he had some bruises and muscles damage in other parts of his body as well, but with the amount of power running through him at that moment, Sasha could easily ignore them and the pain they caused.

Chaos too, had her fair share of cuts and bruises. She held herself as straight as ever though, and Sasha wasn't even sure she felt the damage he had caused her. At some point during the fight she had pulled out the knife that had been lodged in her throat and it lay discarded on the ground a few feet from where they were standing. The wound in her throat was gaping and oozing dirty, tar-like blood. It sluggishly oozed out of the wound and soaked the shirt on Galor's body.

"You shouldn't look so smug, precious." Chaos warned. "Even with Nature's power, you cannot defeat me."

Sasha, who actually hadn't been looking smug beforehand, felt his lips rise into an expression that was absolutely self-satisfied. Even though he knew Chaos would not be pleased, he couldn't keep it down.

Chaos hissed angrily. "What?"

"Who said I was going to use Nature's power to defeat you?" He asked. "I needed her power to escape the Cycle, but while I was there I found another ally."

"That is not possible; nothing exists in the Cycle _but_ the Cycle. You are lying."

Sasha continued to smile knowingly. "Your freedom means the death of the Cycle. It seems the Cycle isn't as gracious about accepting death as it claims the rest of it should be."

"The Cycle is not sentient!" Chaos denied.

"Not quite," Sasha agreed, "but it remembers you. You are the natural enemy of the Cycle and it doesn't wish to see you win. Facing the end of its own existence, the Cycle made a choice and took the lesser evil. It chose me. It chose existence."

Chaos shrieked. "You're lying! It is not true. You are _nothing_. I will bury you!"

Sasha's heart beat rapidly in his chest, nervousness and a strange kind of excitement running around with a cocktail of chemicals in his bloodstream. "Let's see about that." He said.

Chaos lunged for him, arms extended and claws pointed at him. Sasha moved quicker. He fell to a crouch and slammed his hands onto the ground. Chaos was mere inches away from him when he felt the power bubble up and with all the force of an ocean against a grain of sand, it washed over him.

Power rushed through him, engulfed him. He may have cried out. He wasn't sure; the sound of power filled up his ears and left him deafened by the noise. Sasha knew he didn't look like himself, he knew the power was moulding itself around him, encasing him in a hard crust like a caterpillar about to metamorphose.

He saw Chaos' terrified face before he unleashed all that energy, that power and directed it at her. She too, was engulfed in the smoky light that was so obviously the Cycle's strength. She screamed too. Sasha could hear her clearly. The sound pierced even the thick fog that had completely dwarfed them.

Just as with Galor's attack on him, they were transported to a place that was not altogether physical. Chaos twisted and writhed in front of him, a dark figure against nothing but an infinite smoky grey all around. She resisted the power though. She jerked and snapped her head over to him, eyes shining as black as a beetle's shell.

She took a struggling step closer to him, her teeth bared and her eyes wild. Another heavy step had them closer that Sasha would have liked. He clenched his jaw and called more power to him and through him and pushed it towards Chaos.

A screech and a black body flying backwards told him he had hit her. But she wasn't dying, she wasn't giving up.

"I've waited too long for this day!" Chaos' voice boomed all around, less and less human-like the more her vessel was worn down, "You will not stop my ascent." She was advancing again, taking heavy, hard steps towards him with a determination that was nothing if not admirable.

But Sasha couldn't afford to pay her the compliment. He snarled and gritted his teeth. He couldn't hold back any more; he had to let it all go. Sasha didn't know what happened to a person's body with that much power running through it. He certainly didn't think it had ever been tried before. He couldn't imagine the effects would be good. But what could he do? He vowed to serve Nature and Voldemort and if putting himself at risk was too much then everything he had promised was a lie. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. This was his mess; he had to clean it up.

He let go of the frail hold he had on the amount of power that flowed through his body. He let it all go and like a dam, it burst out of him and barrelled towards Chaos with a tidal wave force.

Everything he had went into the attack. Everything. He used Nature's tumultuous force to drive back Chaos. He took the strength of the thundering skies, the force of the stormy seas, the intensity of the erupting volcanoes, the might of the snowstorms. He took their energy and created a weapon that he flung towards Chaos which exploded like a thousand nuclear bombs.

Next, Sasha gathered the power of the Cycle. He used its strength, its knowledge. He took the energy from everything it had ever touched. The souls, living, dead and soon to be reborn. Sasha threw it all in her direction. Every single thing, sentient or not, touched his mind, his body, his soul as they passed through him and found their target in Chaos. But more than that, he felt the gods. They were all a part of the Cycle in their own way, contributing to it in some fashion.

Sasha used them too. Light and Darkness. Creation and Destruction. Energy. Life and Death. Time. And finally, Balance. He felt their presence, their strength, their being as they too lent their might and minds and souls to this struggle against Chaos.

Sasha could feel his arms shaking, his head pounding, his skin burning as if it was being lifted from his muscles which, in turn were being pulled from the bones. He felt himself begin to blur at the edges, his body begin to breakdown and give out against the force it was trying to resist.

He growled and willed himself to stay standing—just a little longer, that's all.

Ahead of him, Chaos fell to her knees. She glared at him hatefully, her body shaking from her gasping breaths and the exhaustion of trying to resist against the onslaught. She let out a feral scream.

"Break!" Sasha shouted in frustration, giving one final push.

She did.

Chaos let out a howl of agony, of fury, of terror. She clawed at her face and body and was swallowed up by the thick rush of united powers against her. Her dying screams would make even the hardest man shudder at the sound but she no longer posed a threat. Her blackened body warped and twisted and strained as she was knocked back and banished from her physical form.

The power of Balance rushed through Sasha, almost knocking him off his feet as he pushed Chaos back into her imprisonment and exiled her to whatever depths she had come from. Her screams were still ringing in Sasha's ears long after Chaos was gone.

He dropped his arm as he stared off into the place where Chaos no longer was. He closed his eyes and concentrated on stopping that all-consuming power.

It wasn't an easy thing to do; it was like a pebble trying to dam the Niagara Falls. But he had to stop. He would kill himself if he didn't. For the third and last time, he returned to the Cycle. There, he thanked it for its power and gave it back to its rightful owner. The Cycle, despite not having a conscience or a personality. Gave him one final gift. It forgave him his transgressions. Truly a day for firsts, the Cycle allowed Sasha to leave its grasp for a third time.

Feeling exhausted and drained, Sasha knew he had to do one more thing before he could return to Voldemort and finally end this day.

He summoned Nature once again.


	44. Chapter 43

_This is the last chapter but there will be an epilogue after this. Thanks to everyone for the support on the last chapter!_

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 43_

_..._

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

It was the same place as before; the same field and sky and sun that hung too low overhead. Only the field now had wheat, the sky was dark with wisps of light dashing across it and the sun was higher up and whiter—a moon, almost.

The wheat had grown up to Sasha's chest. Nature stood in front of him, her back to him as she stared out at something he couldn't see.

"Nature." He said.

She turned to face him. Her body was more physical now. She was still a silhouette, she still looked barely human but the there were shadows to her form, contours and depth. There were dimensions to her; she almost had a face with features on it. She was weakened, he could see it clearly from her form, frail and willowy, thinner than she had been the last time they spoke face to face. Her wounds were visible to him.

"I'm so sorry." Sasha said. "I had no right to deny you. I had no right to take your strength."

"You have defeated Chaos." Nature said.

Sasha nodded. "...Yes."

"We did not think you could defeat our mother."

"I'm sorry, Nature, that I didn't listen to you. I should have let you take me. I put you at risk."

Nature continued. "We underestimated you. The battle had been fortold, but your victory had not. We feared the end of all things. You hurt us. You took our powers from us. It is a feat that no other being has even _tried_ let alone succeeded. You made a deal with the Cycle and it lent to you its power. We underestimated you."

"I came to return your power." Sasha said. "I don't want it. I shouldn't have taken it in the first place. I will accept any punishment you want to give me. I deserve it all."

"We were wrong to doubt you. We thought you were not loyal. That was foolish of us. We should not have doubted you."

Sasha stilled. Having both an immortal goddess and Voldemort as masters, he was not used to hearing apologies coming from their lips. It was a rare occurrence and a strange sound. Sometimes Sasha wished he would not hear Voldemort apologise; it saddened him. Voldemort was supposed to be infallible. He wasn't supposed to be wrong. This was much the same. He didn't know how to reply to Nature's apology.

"You can have your power back now." Sasha said instead. "I'm returning it freely. I wouldn't have taken it if I didn't have to. Take it back."

"Yes," Nature agreed with a laugh, "you would let us take them from you. But what if we did not wish to take, hmm? What would you do if we refused?"

Sasha frowned in confusion, his voice stuck in his throat. "Uh..."

Nature laughed tiredly. "Keep this strength." She said. "Chaos has been defeated. Balance is strong once more. The Cycle is in order. You hurt us. Chaos hurt us. We are tired now and we must rest. Our power is useless to us now; it will only keep us awake. Take it. Learn to use it."

Sasha shook his head, "No, I... I don't want—"

Nature moved, appearing in front of him like a faulty hologram flickering in and out of existence. Her hands were on Sasha's jaw, she was looking down at him.

"You defeated Chaos through sheer brute force. This is not what we use our power for. We whisper to the trees and beckon them to grow; we call to the creatures and listen to their secrets. We command the salt water to push against the land and recede when it goes too far. We fly with the winds and let it carry us to where we wish to be. These are things that we have done since the beginning. You will learn to do this also."

Sasha jerked his face out of Nature's hands. "N-no." He said, shaking his and taking a step back, "No. I—no...I...You can't ask this of me. I can't do that."

"You will. Consider this your punishment. You have hurt us and now we must rest. You will watch over us while we do so. " Nature said.

Sasha tried to speak. He tried to tell Nature that he wouldn't do it, that he wasn't able to take the duties of a goddess. He tried to say that he didn't want that responsibility. That he wouldn't know where to begin. The fate of the planet was too much responsibility, too much weight on his shoulders. Before he could manage to say anything, however, Nature hushed him, knowing what he was thinking.

"The planet does not need a constant master. It is old enough to continue on its own. It does not need unwavering supervision or maintenance; our father's people will look after that. You hurt us. You took our power, but still you left some strength in us. We will awaken if there is ever another crisis. We will find you and take back what is ours. Till then, we will rest. Keep it. Learn from it. Become strong enough to protect us should Chaos ever rise again, for you will not have the Cycle's aid twice...nor its forgiveness."

The thought was tempting; power without responsibility, forgiveness without struggle. Yet, when all was said and done Sasha did not want to take Nature's power. To diminish his master, it didn't sit with him.

"No." He said once more. "I won't do it."

When Nature spoke it was in a knowing tone. "You will." She was so assured Sasha suspected she had some more information than he did. "You will learn to live with it or it will consume you. How loud was the planet when you were connected to us? Imagine how defeaning it will be now that you are part of it? You will learn. There _is_ no other way. We wish you luck."

Nature turned and floated away, moving through the tall wheat as she departed. Sasha watched her go for a shocked moment before calling after her. "Wait!" He shouted to the rapidly disappearing figure. "How?"

"You will learn. You survive. It is why we chose you." Nature's voice drifted over to him as her form disappeared amidst the wheat.

Sasha watched the empty air that was left behind in Nature's wake. He stayed where he was, staring worriedly into space even as the scene around him began to fade and defragment. All around him faded to darkness and Sasha was left staring at nothing.

Eventually, when the darkness became too stark and the silence too heavy, Sasha closed his eyes and let out a sigh that tried to purge all the tiredness, all the pent up relief. It didn't help any but it gave him an excuse to delay a little longer. He didn't know what he would be facing once he returned to the Hogwarts battlefield.

He knew he couldn't stay there forever, though and frankly he didn't want to. He wanted to return to Voldemort, to rest his head on a pillow or a couch—hell, even a carpet would do. He was tired but more than that, he wanted to be alone with his master. He wanted the quiet moments between him and Voldemort that he always found himself missing in the height of battle.

Eventually, Sasha could wait no more. He decided to return to his master.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha opened his eyes to last night's battlefield.

The light from his attack was still clearing and the residue hummed in the air, vibrating its atoms with jittery energy. It settled over the ground as a heavy fog, thick and dense.

Sasha looked up to the sky, eyes on the morning sun, rising above the horizon, glowing a pale pink. It was morning now; dawn was just breaking. They had fought through the night.

The battle was over.

Sasha ran a shaky hand through his hair. He took a stumbling step towards the rising sun. Body trembling, Sasha let out a juddering breath.

"Sasha!"

With the death of Chaos, the barrier had collapsed around him. Paveh was running towards him. Advancing behind his father, somewhat slower, but still hurried, was Voldemort. Red eyes burning and entirely focused on him.

Sasha's eyes flickered between Voldemort and Paveh. He tried to give a reassuring smile before he felt the full brunt of what Nature had refused to take back. The planet suddenly exploded in his ears.

Sasha gasped in agony and shock. His eyes rolled up. He crumbled to the ground.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Paveh skidded on his knees over to his son. He hunched over the prone form, his fingers desperately searching for some evidence of a wound.

"Sasha!" He cried, "Sasha! C'mon, wake up!"

Heart beating in his chest like a rabbit's, Paveh was about to lose consciousness himself. He touched Sasha's face, his chest, his arms. Nothing, there was nothing. No bruises, no cuts—even though there should have been plenty of both. He shouldn't be unconscious. He should be awake and fine—maybe a little tired—but healthy. He should be talking to Paveh, telling him not to worry, that he had it under control.

Because that's what Sasha did. Even when it wasn't true. He told people what wouldn't hurt them. Paveh knew his son was not always truthful with him. He knew Sasha told lies to spare his feelings. He wished to Balance that Sasha was lying to him now—or at least had the ability to lie to him.

He grasped Sasha's hand and squeezed, swallowing the lump in his throat as he did. He shouldn't have left Sasha alone. He shouldn't have let Sasha be here in the first place. Paveh was his father. Ultimately, circumstances aside, he should have been able to order Sasha away from the battle, away from the danger.

Around him the other Shira were beginning to gather. Sasha's human master, the Dark Lord was standing over the boy and casting a shadow on Paveh's side.

"He's breathing." The Dark Lord said.

Paveh narrowed his eyes at the man's words. So what if he was breathing? That didn't mean he was okay. It just meant there was still oxygen travelling in and out of his body. That's all. Basic functioning. Everything that was Sasha though, it could all be lost. Paveh would never be able to form the bond he so wished to with his son if he died now. "He's cold." Paveh said in response to Voldemort's declaration.

It was true too; Sasha's skin was frigid to touch—like ice. He could have been dead months by the feel of him. It wasn't right. The skin felt like modelling clay and was almost half as malleable. It was wrong, all wrong.

"We have—we have to..." Paveh's voice trailed away as his voice hitched. "We have to get him out of here. He needs treatment. We have to take him home."

"Paveh..." Navaa said softly.

Paveh's head snapped up to look at her. "What? Why are you all just standing there?" He asked, head moving to everyone he could see. "Help me. He needs to be moved carefully."

"Paveh." Navaa said again.

"You're not listening to me." Paveh said, frustrated. "He needs help."

"He's not going anywhere." Voldemort said suddenly.

Paveh snarled and rose to his feet. He turned and faced Voldemort, moving close to him aggressively. "You don't get a say in this. It's your fault he's here!"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "It was one of your people, was it not, that put him in such danger?" He asked furiously.

Paveh stopped and sneered. "That's not the point." He said quickly. "You shouldn't have made him come here. He's too young for this kind of thing anyway. I won't let you take him; he's _my_ son, I should have a say in what happens to him."

"I'm his master." Voldemort replied.

"It doesn't even matter." Paveh said quietly. "It doesn't. I won't let you take him. He needs treatment. He needs medicine. You can't give him these things."

"Paveh." It was Diari who said his name. While Paveh had been preoccupied, the elder had kneeled down next to Sasha's unconscious form and examined him.

"What?" Paveh asked quickly, worried, anxious. "What is it?"

Diari knew the most about Nature and the Scions. If any Shira knew what was going on, it would be her. Her voice wasn't optimistic though; it was carefully controlled in a way that told Paveh whatever she had to say would not be good.

Standing up, Diari shook her head. "We do not have the kind of medicines that would help with this."

"What's wrong with him?" Both Paveh and Voldemort asked simultaneously.

Diari stared down at Sasha as she spoke. "I do not know. I have never seen such a battle before. The only way Sasha could have been strong enough to defeat Chaos is if he was possessed by Nature. But Nature would not battle her mother and Sasha appeared to be in control the entire time. I did not hear the words they spoke, but he showed no signs of Nature in his body. What has happened to him? This state he is in; I cannot say. It does not make sense to me. He should not be like this. Maybe it is exhaustion. Maybe not. Maybe he will never recover. Maybe in a few days..."

"He needs to come home with us." Paveh said again, firmly. "His place is with me."

"No." Said Diari "No. His place is with his masters. Seperating him from both could have ill effects on his health. It could kill him, Paveh. He must not be taken from these lands."

Paveh stood numbly. He looked down at his son.

"I will look after the boy." Voldemort said, stepping forward and nearer to Sasha.

Paveh wasn't sure if the Dark Lord's words were assurances or if he was staking a claim on Sasha. It made his blood boil that no one believed he should look after his son. Diari spoke true, however; if they removed him from both his masters, he could be harmed. He knew he could not do that. His place _was_ by the Dark Lord and Nature. It didn't make it any less difficult to swallow though, and Paveh's parental instincts were kicking in strongly, making it even harder to accept.

"Then I'll stay here." Paveh announced. "With him. I won't leave Sasha's side."

"Paveh..." Navaa admonished gently, "You have duties to attend; more now that Chaos touched this land. We must re-instate Balance. We cannot afford to have another one of us go."

Paveh wanted to tell Navaa to screw Balance. He wanted to scream and say that his son was more important than that. He was going to say those things and more but Diari spoke before he could.

"By re-establishing Balance," she said, "you will be doing your part to protect Sasha. If everything falls to pieces while he is unwell, Nature might call upon him again to fix it. Do you wish to put your son through such an ordeal twice? He may not fare so well next time."

Paveh froze. He debated for a long time what he should do. On the one hand, he wanted to wait over Sasha until he woke up. On the other, a weakened Balance would leave him open to attack. Diari was right; Sasha _could_ be called to save the day. Surely that would kill him. He sighed, rubbing his neck.

"If anything happens to him—_anything_—it'll be your head next." Paveh warned Voldemort with a shaky voice.

Voldemort stood stoically, unresponsive to the threat.

Paveh could have hissed at the cold, calm demeanour of the Dark Lord. Even in such a crisis the human acted as if there was nothing wrong. He didn't know how Sasha could handle it on a day to day basis. Shira were easier to deal with frankly.

"As _soon_ as he wakes up, I want to know. I mean it; the moment he opens his eyes have him call me. I'll be listening out for it and I'll come immediately—no matter what."

Voldemort nodded. "Very well." He said.

"We go." Said Diari, taking control. "Good luck, human, in your endeavours."

With the slightest disturbance in the air, all the Shira that had gather around Sasha were gone.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Voldemort was eager to take Sasha home but before he could bend down to take him into his arms, a voice called out from behind him.

"Human."

Voldemort turned, his eyes narrowed in annoyance at being addressed as he was.

The king of the centaurs stood before him. Voldemort remembered from Sasha's tales that this centaur was called Nessus. Leader of his herd, Nessus stood regally in front of Voldemort. He hadn't been left unharmed by the battle; there was a long gash running down one of his legs and he had blood seeping from deep cuts on his arms and chest but he stood as if unharmed.

"What?" Voldemort hissed.

Nessus didn't seem to take offence from the curt tone, even though he could have and it would have been within his rights to do so. Instead, he ignored it and replied. "This battle was foretold by my people." He explained. "When I met Sasha Kamenev I knew him to be the one the prophecies spoke of. I asked him to agree to fight for us when the battle came. He did. We do not care for the business of humans; it is not our place to interfere with their lives and we do not wish for them to be involved in ours.

"Our allegiance to your Army, Dark Lord, was only to aid Sasha Kamenev. We will part ways from here. Sasha will always be welcome in our forests but we will not side with you in future. Tell him that. And tell him also 'thank you'. We owe him all."

"It is not yet certain if he will recover from his injuries," Voldemort said, "I may not get the chance to deliver your message."

Voldemort didn't know why _he_ had to be the message boy. Yet somehow, Nessus had deemed him appropriate for the job.

Nessus, still not picking up on Voldemort's negative mood, smiled, "He will wake." Nessus said. "It is just a matter of time, but he will. Even now I can sense him here; his soul has not left. There have been a great many changes in the last few hours; the tables have been turned, power has exchanged hands. It will take some time to get used to it, but everything will settle eventually."

"What are you talking about?" Voldemort said tetchily.

Nessus continued to smile but he would not answer. "You will see. Or not. That will be up to Sasha. But it is not my place to say. Be sure to relay my message."

He did not wait for Voldemort to reply. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and whistled. Every centaur left on the battlefield looked over to Nessus, nodded and followed him as they retreated back to the Forbidden Forest. They would not be seen on the grounds of Hogwarts again.

The Death Eaters had been given their orders; the werewolves were in human form again. Sasha was his first priority now; he had to get him back home. Swooping down low, Voldemort gathered Sasha in his armed and disapparated.

Before he could fully apparate away, Voldemort happened to look across the distance. For a split second his eye was caught by the hulking golden beast that had rescued Sasha from Galor Palun. Voldemort thought the creature had been killed. He had been wrong. It was sitting, staring with intelligent amber eyes at him and Sasha, flicking its tail leisurely from side to side.

The apparation carried them away.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

**...**

Diari Vehgal had returned to the other elders to inform them of the night's events. She explained everything; the minions of Chaos, the presence and mind frame of the traitor Galor Palun, their inability to stop him and the final battle between Sasha Kamenev and Chaos.

She spoke at length, answering questions and recalling the events to the best of her knowledge. At the end of her tale, the other elders had been quiet. A simple, "So the boy defeated Chaos" was muttered by one of them but nothing after that was said.

"How?" Ephra Tal had thought to ask after some time.

Diari had explained that she could not comment. She still didn't know how Sasha had managed to defeat Chaos. Even so far removed from the other plane, the elders here had felt the immense power vibrate through the fabric of space. That was some power. A power that no Scion had ever held before—and certainly no Shira.

Paveh was a genius and one could have argued that the boy had inherited his father's skills, but even Paveh could not wield such strength. It was not right.

The conversation moved then from what had happened to what would. They needed to rally the troops and re-establish Balance. Thankfully, the effects were a lot less than they could have been and the Well of Balance was almost completely clear. Yet, there were duties to attend and as elders, it was their responsibility to oversee them.

Hours were spent making plans and preparations and it took a long time before Orun Apa called it a night and announced that they had finished. As the others left the field that housed the Well of Balance, Diari hung back.

She was not happy to leave a mystery unsolved—and the case of Sasha Kamenev was indeed a mystery. From the moment she saw him, Diari had known the boy would have a place in greatness. She did not think for a moment though that he would be able to take on Chaos. She had not thought he would even have been able to hold his own against Galor. By all rights, he shouldn't have either. Yet for both cases, he had excelled.

It was true that now he was in some sort of comatose state, but Diari sensed that he would recover. Something told her that he was well used to surviving the odds.

Strolling over to the Well of Balance, Diari considered what she was about to do. She reached the well and dipped her fingers into the cool, clear waters, calling out to Balance and asking him to reveal what had happened.

Balance wasn't in the business of revealing the past and usually the Shira only asked for the future, but Diari sensed it was worth a try. She sent out her intentions of learning more about Sasha Kamenev and how he achieved what he had.

She flinched when she immediately felt Balance meet her inquiry with a response. The well disappeared and instead Sasha was in front of her, acting out once more what he had done the night before.

Eyes widening at the sights in front of her, Diari marveled at what Balance shower her. More importantly, she marveled at Sasha Kamenev. Who would have thought the boy was capable of such feats? He truly was a saviour.

Before her eyes, Sasha fought with Galor, attacking blocking dodging, hitting and getting hit. She felt the ghost of Nature's influence, her attempts at possession, her anger, frustration and beyond it all—terror. Then, Galor was in front of her and she was seeing the world from Sasha's point of view, moments before Galor flung the terrible, aberrant power of Chaos straight for him. She stumbled back as she felt what could only have been a fraction of the pain. She saw what Sasha saw as his soul was ripped from his body and he was pushed into the Cycle.

The elder witnessed his loss of identity, his rescue by the ngen, the second time he threw himself into the Cycle. Chaos' rebirth. The third time in the Cycle. And a field of wheat with a woman standing in it.

Nature.

Diari heard his pleas, his despair, his frustration and his helplessness. She wasn't prepared for what happened next.

The Shira elder another took a step back from the Well of Balance, shocked.

The projection of Sasha Kamenev and Nature showed the terrified Scion slowly straighten, chance a furtive glance over his shoulder and flex his hands. He muttered an apology and turned rushing up to Nature, catching her off-guard and ripping his hand through her body. Diari grimaced as Nature screamed silently and Sasha tore the soul out of his master. The wound was visible as Nature fell to her knees, writhing and clutching at her centre and Diari could see light passing through the hole.

The image flickered and died out in front of her eyes. She blinked and she was back at the Well of Balance.

"Oh," She whispered to herself, dazed, "so that's what happened..."

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

_..._

_[Three days later]_

"What news?"

Bellatrix turned to face Lucius Malfoy, eyes narrowed and suspicious. "Regarding what, Lucius?" She asked.

He had stopped her in the corridor of Voldemort's manor as she had been passing by. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, he carried himself a lot less like his usual portrayal of a suitable Malfoy.

"On the boy."

Inclining her head Bellatrix asked. "Why?"

"Curiosity, mostly. Self-preservation also; I have not forgotten the way things were when the boy went missing a few months ago. I imagine a grieving would be a volatile thing for Our Lord."

Lucius gave a fair answer, but Bellatrix's curiosity was not appeased by it—her suspicions neither. "You have asked me three times already on the state of Sasha Kamenev. You are strangely interested in him. Why?" She cocked her head to the side. "Need I remind you that you are married to my sister?"

Looking vaguely insulted, Lucius straightened and unfurled his arms, rising to the challenge that Bellatrix created. "And need I remind _you_," Lucius said quietly, "that _you_ are married to Rodolphus Lestrange—not the Dark Lord. Learn to honour your own commitments before you think to question mine. I have been loyal to Narcissa since the first day I saw her. You cannot claim the same."

Bellatrix's lip curled. "Not that it's any of your business," she said, "but he still had not awoken the last time I was there. I was on my way before you interrupted me."

Lucius nodded. "Forgive me then, for interrupting you."

It was the bare nicety. Lucius was on the verge of being sarcastic. Bellatrix nodded and haughtily strutted past him. She had made it a few steps before she thought of something and skipped around mid-stride. "Voldemort wouldn't let you have him, you know." She said, grinning. "Not that Sasha would have _you_, mind; you've got too many wrinkles."

She cackled her way around the corner, leaving a scowling Lucius behind.

Bellatrix knew the way to get to Lucius was through his narcissism. He was practically unflappable otherwise. Narcissa had too much grace, or perhaps sense, to fully divulge the secrets of her marriage, but she had let stories of her husband's vanity slip every now and then.

In her own way, Bellatrix was protecting Lucius. Voldemort would not ignore the moves the man was making on his ward forever and though Lucius did not understand the extent of their relationship, he should not have stuck his nose in it. Voldemort would not stand for a threat against his claim. He cared for Sasha more deeply than he, or Sasha, would admit. Perhaps Bellatrix might have doubted it before but now, after the battle, it was plain to see.

Voldemort had not left Sasha's side since they arrived back home. That was four days ago. It was partly the reason why Bellatrix was risking moving towards Voldemort's personal chambers.

Sasha liked Bellatrix. She was one of the few Death Eaters he actually trusted and respected. Bellatrix suspected that was the only reason Voldemort had put up with her repeated presence. She imagined that despite her good intentions, Voldemort would have hexed her had it not been for Sasha.

As much as Bellatrix hated to admit it, Lucius had touched upon a valid point; the Voldemort without his ward was a very different Voldemort. Bellatrix would still follow him to hell and back, regardless, but she preferred this one. Her Lord was easier to please when he had Sasha to ground him.

Arriving at the door to Voldemort's personal chambers, Bellatrix stopped and knocked on the door. "My Lord." She said as she opened it a crack, letting him know it was her and not some other Death Eater before he demanded to be left in peace.

As she did not receive any angry words at her announcement, Bellatrix ventured fully into the room, shutting the door behind her. Voldemort was sitting in a chair beside his bed. In the bed was Sasha, looking small under all the sheets and pillows that were stacked over, under and around him.

Bellatrix removed her eyes from Sasha and focused on Voldemort. She approached slowly, carefully, fully aware of the power the Dark Lord had and how efficient he was at utilising it. "My Lord." She said softly, knowing there was a trick to dealing with Voldemort. "It has been four days since you have returned."

Voldemort looked up, glaring dangerously but did not speak.

Bellatrix, cautiously, continued. "You need to consolidate your rule. Let the people know you are their master."

"You would dare presume to command me?" Voldemort hissed darkly.

Quickly shaking her head, Bellatrix made it absolutely clear that she wasn't commanding or presuming anything. "No, not at all, my Lord. Only, I know you have a lot on your mind. If you do not appear in front of the wizarding world, they will think you have been injured—or are incapable of leading. Everything we worked for; it could all be lost if you tarry here."

She paused then, letting her words sink in. She waited another moment before taking a risk and saying; "Sasha would not wish for you to fall here."

Voldemort made Bellatrix freeze with a mere look. "You would do well to keep your tongue in check Bellatrix." He warned.

Bellatrix lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, my Lord."

"Still," Voldemort mused, "you speak sense."

"I will stay with him until you return." Bellatrix offered.

Voldemort was quiet for a few beats. "Be sure that you do." He said stiffly, standing up. "I will return shortly. Let no one else in."

Bellatrix nodded. "Of course, my Lord." She said, bowing lowly.

Voldemort hesitated briefly at Sasha's side before he turned, brushed past her and left the room. Bellatrix wandered over to the chair that had been previously occupied by the Dark Lord. She sat down heavily, eyes on Sasha's sleeping face. Even if she had not been aware of their relationship, seeing Sasha taking over the Dark Lord's bed was proof of what was going on behind the scenes.

Over at the opposite end, a hearty fire was crackling nicely. The room was cosy, comfortable, so unlike the usual state of the manor.

Bellatrix clicked her tongue as she took a look around the room, sighed and slouched into her chair, already bored.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Learning to accommodate divine powers in a physical body was not an easy thing to do. Sasha wasn't conscious for any of it and certainly not aware for most of it. The difficulty was in the limitations of space; the gods were not physical beings, they were purely intelligent energy that could clump together into something similar to a form. They were part of the universe, of the Cycle, of each other. They didn't have boundaries that could be filled or overfilled.

Sasha did.

But somewhere, amidst the fevered dreams and muddled thoughts, Sasha had found the answer. The answer lay in his own properties and those of the gods. He was inherently different. While the gods had no body and could focus their energies into making one, Sasha was stuck with a physical form but he imagined he could let this new power out into the universe.

It took some undefined length of time for him to figure out how he was going to do this; it certainly didn't come with an instruction manual. His solution was a gateway. The ability to give and take power to and from the Cycle. Sasha made this gateway within himself and, as he watched it working, felt himself heal.

Slowly the comatose state the foreign energy had put him in lessened and soon he could see a dim light behind his eyelids. Sluggishly, his mind shuffled towards awakening. It was a struggle; more a crawling, clawing journey than a glorious return to reality.

Sasha groaned and cracked open his heavy, stiff eyes. Staring up at the ceiling, he took a moment to orientate himself. The room was warm. He could hear the fire spit and crackle at the other end of the room. The sheets he was under were clean and the mattress he was on was comfortable.

He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily in relief. This was it, this was what he had fought for; the bed, the sheets, the warmth, the fire, the quiet and...

"Sasha." Voldemort said, standing up from his seat beside the bed.

...and the Dark Lord.

Sasha turned his head to meet his master's eyes.

"You're awake." Voldemort said, the relief in his voice spoke volumes.

Sasha gave a tired but pleased grin.

He was home.


	45. Chapter 00 Epilogue

_Hi all, it's been awhile! I thought I had posted the final chapter months ago so I want to thank LurkerAlert for pointing it out. I also want to thank Tommy14 who has been with me since the very beginning! And of course I want to thank everybody who has read and enjoyed this. It's been a fun journey and I am delighted that I could share it with you all!_

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_Chapter 00 – Epilogue_

_..._

It was a quiet night, silent and cold, snow softly falling from a cloudy sky. The moon tried valiantly to peep through the coverage and only stray rays of light hit the cobbles of Diagon Alley. The woman hurried through the streets, cloak pulled taut around her thin frame, expelling mist from trembling lips. Her eyes glanced this way and that, terrified of who might be watching in these abandoned streets.

Her curfew was over.

If she was caught, she could lose what little she had left.

Picking up her pace, she hurried through the streets as fast as she could without making a sound. She made her way down a narrow alley and turned the corner to a small street before slipping into the cul de sac that led to her front door. Glancing worriedly over her shoulder, the woman tapped her wand against the wooden door and it creaked open slowly. She pushed her way in and, once inside, she leaned against it, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Slowly, she peeled herself from the door and unclasped her cloak, hanging it on the crooked coat stand. She moved further into the tiny wooden hovel, brushing snowflakes from her hair and ignoring the dank smell and the spongy texture of wet, rotting timber. There were two rooms in her tiny house; the first was a kitchen and living room combined in one small space and the other was the bedroom where, as she kicked her shoes off, the woman approached.

"Sweetie I'm home." She whispered, half-fearful that she would wake the child within."I'm so sorry I—"

She stopped as she palmed open the door.

Leaning over the cot was a dark figure, darker than the black of the room.

"Get away from her!" She screamed in panic and fierce protective instinct, whipping out her wand and aiming it dangerously at the intruder.

The man before her slowly straightened and turned.

"Hello Hermione." He said, stepping away from the cot and into the beam of moonlight that fell from the single yellowed window in the room.

Sasha Kamenev stood before her, calm and unafraid. Hermione didn't put down her wand but she faltered, looking around quickly, paranoid that there might be others here to take her baby away from her. Despite being assured they were alone, Hermione's fear did not lessen. She looked at Sasha with worry.

Sasha leisurely held up his hands in surrender. "Put the wand down, Hermione." He said.

Hermione bit her lip, torn between wanting protection from this man and fearing the fate of those who threatened him. She shifted uncomfortably, clutching her wand now with both hands, her eyes glancing between him and her daughter asleep in the cot, making sure she was alright.

Sasha followed her gaze towards the child and put his hands down. "Let's step outside." He said. "No need to wake the child."

Hermione didn't move so Sasha smirked and took a step forward.

"S-stop!" Hermione shrieked, her voice warbling in terror. Sasha held up his hands again, still presenting a non-threatening demeanour. They both looked over to the child, who shuffled at the sound but did not wake.

"Outside, Hermione; a screaming child won't make this visit any more pleasant."

Hermione wanted him away from her baby. She strengthened her resolve. Her lips thinned and the skin around her eyes tightened as she slowly lowered her wand and stepped aside, allowing Sasha to leave the room. Sasha raised his brow at the whitened skin around her knuckles as Hermione gripped the wand with a painful force. Her arm shook as Sasha walked by. Once he passed the threshold into the other room, Hermione ran over to the cot to inspect her daughter and, finding her unharmed, she sighed in relief and slowly followed Sasha out, walking as if she was heading to her execution.

For all Hermione knew, she was.

Sasha was standing by her kitchen table, leaning casually against the battered old wood, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he was making himself at home. The worst part was; Sasha wasn't technically wrong to do it. Sasha had more legal claim to her own home than she did thanks to her mudblood status. It made Hermione's blood boil. She would have attacked outright in her anger if it hadn't been a death sentence. Maybe a few years ago, that wouldn't have mattered to her but now... He had seen her child. There was too much at risk. She would have to play whatever game he was here for and she would have to win it because otherwise, Hermione couldn't see herself getting out of this situation alive.

"Cute kid." Sasha said.

Hermione didn't speak but she nodded carefully.

"Looks a lot like you. What's her name?"

Hermione hesitated. "Anna."

"Oh, after your mother, am I right?"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed angrily. "Is that a threat?" She asked. "Are you threatening my mother? My family?"

"No, of course not. I don't care about your family. I'm here for you."

"You've come to kill me." Hermione said with resignation.

Sasha smiled. "No."

"Then why are you here?" Hermione hissed.

"Sit down, Hermione."

"I'm fine standing." Hermione said, folding her arms, wand still in hand.

Sasha shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Sasha shifted his position, lifting himself up to sit on the table. Hermione hadn't thought it would be sturdy enough to carry the weight of a fully grown man but Sasha appeared to have no difficulty, leaning forward and swinging his leg absently-mindedly. Once again Sasha was making this interaction uncomfortably like a social situation more than the threatening confrontation that it was.

"Will you just get on with it?" Hermione snapped. "If you're going to arrest me then just do it and stop dragging this out."

Sasha straightened. "Arrest you?" Sasha asked, his voice high with false confusion. "Why would I do that? Do you have something to feel guilty about? Hmm?"

"No." She said with as much resolution as possible. She impressed herself with her lie.

Sasha grinned. "Really? Nothing? Not even the newly re-established Order of the Phoenix? You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, right?"

"No." It sounded strong but inside Hermione quivered. She was terrified. Did he know about it? Or was he bluffing? Hermione tried to turn a critical eye on Sasha Kamenev but he gave nothing away, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Of course, it's not called that anymore is it? I don't blame you—or them—whatever the story is; the phoenix was a poor phrasing I think. Made for failure and the death of its members. I never knew a phoenix that didn't meet a poor end and while the symbolism is pretty, you can't raise a family off of symbolism. You need results. Something strong, like a dragon—much more convincing. Don't you think?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have anything to do with them."

It was precisely why she had fought for the name to be changed from the Order of the Phoenix to the Dragon Alliance. More and more, Hermione felt the noose tighten around her neck.

Sasha 'hmphed'. "Hungarian Horntails..." He cocked his head to the side, considering the association between the rebels and the dragon. "If I've got my facts straight—and I do—Horntails are a nasty lot; quick and deadly, no remorse when they attack—_very_ territorial."

The Dragon Alliance was made up of various subgroups strewn across the country and some working for Britain's independence internationally. The Hebridean Blacks, the Welsh Greens, the Chinese Fireballs, the Peruvian Vipers and Hermione's own group, the Hungarian Horntails. Hermione's group was not the largest but it was one of the bigger ones and it had an integral part in the last battle against the ruling power.

Hermione huffed, trying to hide her thumping heart. "Where are you going with this?"

Sasha's grin widened, but otherwise he ignored her. The thing about Horntails is that their females are the worst. Whatever about a male, you just don't want to come across a female—especially near her whelps."

"I—" Hermione tried.

Sasha 'tutted'. "I'm saying, Hermione, that the Horntail is a beautiful icon for a rebellion. If I were the head of revolution, I'd probably be thinking along those lines."

"I'm not following—"

"You're husband was recently arrested, wasn't he?"

Hermione froze.

A cold chill ran down her spine and she took a deep, shaky breath.

"Yes."

"Only three weeks ago, I believe. Sent to Azkabhan." Sasha stopped, all humour gone from his face. "For treason against the Dark Lord."

"He had nothing to do with it." Hermione said, breathless with fear. "Don't hurt him. Please. He's not the leader of the rebellion."

"No, of course he's not." Sasha agreed. "The Horntail, Hermione, is a symbol of strength. Of brute strength and sheer force of will. It's a symbol of protectiveness and determination and fierce maternal instinct. It's a female perspective, Hermione. It's a rebellion with a mother at the helm."

Oh Merlin, he knew about her. She was not the only leader but she was one of them and that left her in a position worse than a death sentence. They would torture her for her information. They would not get it, but they would try.

Hermione's world stopped. Her stomach dropped and she wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or get sick. In the end, she swallowed the rising bile in her stomach and whispered "Please."

Sasha just watched her.

"Please," she said, stronger this time, "my baby. Have mercy."

"Begging already?" Sasha asked darkly. "I wouldn't have expected that from the Dark Lord's enemy. I'd have thought you'd have a bit more pride than that; grovelling at the first lick of trouble. Cowardly."

Hermione's terror turned to anger. The pride Sasha claimed missing reared its wounded head. "You think I'd care about that if I could? I'd have fought you to the death and I'd take you down with me. On any other day at any other time I'd have cursed you the moment I saw you." She hissed.

"But not today." Sasha said.

"No."

"Because I've seen your daughter and you know exactly what would happen to her if you were out of the picture."

"Yes."

"The state orphanages aren't so bad, you know."

Hermione shook her head; the tumultuous situation and the toll of extreme emotions were beginning to tire her. "It's no life for a child."

Sasha was quiet for a moment. "Your priority is your daughter?" He asked.

"Of course." Hermione replied.

"Then why run around with the rebellion? You know the risks."

"Because living under this bloody regime is no life for her either! Being treated as a second class citizen? How is that fair? How could I possibly watch my child grow up without a chance of having a happy life? Without a chance of being equal to people who, by all rights, should be standing in her shadow? She'll only ever be taught the most basic of magic, the only schooling she'll ever get is less than third-rate and she'll be worked to the bone from the time she's thirteen as little more than a slave, getting an eighth of the wages that a pure blood or half-blood would ever get. The only hope, the _only_ hope she will ever have, is if she catches the eye of a wealthy, first-class citizen who might want to keep her as a mistress or if she's very lucky, a wife, meant to be nothing more than pretty to look at and a broodmare for his heirs!"

Sasha shrugged. "Still, pretty risky though; if the authorities even _suspected_ you of associating with the Alliance, you'd be thrown into Azkabhan along with your husband and you'd never see your daughter again. She'd lose both her parents in one swoop."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "How could I not fight, though?" She asked helplessly. "Don't suppose it matters anymore. You said it yourself; innocent people having been put in Azkabahn without trial just for being suspected of associating with the rebellion and my secret's out...No point playing dumb."

Hermione fell into the chair behind her, finally taking Sasha's offer of a seat. She buried her face in her hands miserably. "What happens now?" She asked, her voice breaking in sorrow. The fight left her body. There was no point struggling, she could now only hope that her cooperation would help her daughter somehow.

"What do you mean?" Sasha asked innocently.

Hermione looked up, surprised and mistrustful.

"I went out tonight on a random check." He shrugged. "I didn't find anything of note. Far as I'm concerned, this area's clean of rebel influence. Only good, law abiding citizens here."

For more than the first time that night, Hermione froze. "What?" She whispered. She wasn't sure she hadn't misheard. Surely this was a joke? Some kind of sick game?

Sasha smirked. "I don't want you to stop fighting, Hermione; I just want to make sure you're fighting for the right reasons."

She couldn't form words properly. "I—What?"

"You're right, of course; this society the Dark Lord has created is not perfect. There are flaws that any right minded witch or wizard can see. He can be blinded by his prejudices at times. As much as I can I try and soften them but I can only do so much. I still believe it is an improvement from the previous establishment—but it could be so much more. And the Dark Lord is not the person to take it to those heights."

Hermione stared at him in shock. She looked around, paranoid, wide-eyed. "This is treason. What you're saying is treason!"

"Who's going to tell on me? You?"

Hermione was speechless. Her mouth opened to speak and then closed. Her mind whirled with the overload of information. Her chest tightened with the stress and confusion of the situation. She looked at Sasha, trying to see a chink in his armour, trying to spot a lie or some hint to clear everything up. She hoped Sasha might speak; tell her his plans or give her something to work with but he provided nothing.

"You-you're betraying the Dark Lord... You want to join the Alliance?"

"Not quite. I don't want to join you. I want to offer you support."

"I don't understand."

"Like I said, the Dark Lord cannot lead this country to true greatness. He can't. He will try, but as always, his prejudices will get in his way. I have seen him achieve a great many things but then I witness this," Sasha gestured his hand around the small house, "and you and all the talent wasted and it's absolutely criminal. True greatness can only come from open-mindedness and a willingness to utilise everything and everyone that has something to offer. Werewolves and centaurs now have better rights and that's a good thing but muggle born witches and wizards are less than dirt, left to rot away in menial jobs like shop assistants to talentless, mediocre pureblood potion brewers."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "You've been following me." She said, recognising her own circumstances as he said them.

"Of course I have. A brand new rebellion peaks its head up and I wasn't going to suspect the brightest witch of our generation? You've been careful at not looking suspicious to the casual eye but I followed you for a month and you never once suspected anything."

"So you've seen—"

"Everything. Each safe house, every pass code, all the brief interactions between you and other rebels behind your shop, the glimpses of messages passed between hands, I saw everything."

"You could bring us down in a second."

Sasha nodded.

"But you want to help us."

"Not quite." Sasha said. "I want to help you, Hermione."

"Me?"

"I loathe your rebellion; I hate the violence you've incited. Because of you, I've had to step up and kill fellow countrymen. I resent killing when it can be avoided. But your rebellion has made that impossible. I know you are not the leader of the rebellion, but you are one of them, and your decision to overthrow the Dark Lord with violence instead of politics has led to this. I don't propose a battle but a duel. Despite you're intelligence, you're not a commander. You're not a warrior. You talk about Horntails and take your strength from their image but Horntails will attack until there is nothing left. They destroy and they die trying to protect their lot. You are so much more than a savage beast. Don't limit yourself to brutality."

"In case you haven't noticed." Hermione snapped. "Your _Lord_ doesn't allow political debate; he doesn't allow opposition to speak against him or try to take his place. Did you think this was my first call? I don't _want_ to be a murderer, I don't want to hurt people or be responsible for people getting hurt. But I didn't have a choice! This was my only option."

"It was. Once. Now that I'm here it isn't. Work smart. Gather support. Win victories—small ones at first and then make them bigger. Get a following and turn yourself into the leader I know you can be. Speak out against these injustices and fight for your future, for your daughter's future. I won't stand by you, but I'll be in the shadows. If someone tries to hurt you, to stop you, to delay you, I will be there. I will stop them and I will protect you and your family. Be better than you are and be this nation's saviour. You are the only person who can do this."

"I don't understand you." Hermione said. "You've always been loyal to him, you said so yourself; you've fought for him, killed for him, what happened? What did he do to you?"

"You think he did something to me?" Sasha asked, amused.

"He must have. You're not the same. I remember you on the battlefield, I saw you on the last night the rebellion fought against you. You stepped out before us and took out half our ranks without lifting your finger. That power, it wasn't normal. It was...evil. That wasn't light magic—it wasn't even dark magic. I've never seen anything like it in my life. And your face, your body. You haven't aged a day, we're the same age but I look fifteen years older than you. I've heard rumours about it; people say he experimented on you, changed you, turned you into something...inhuman."

Sasha's eyes narrowed. "Who says that?"

"Everyone. It's whispered everywhere. He experimented on you and then did to himself what he did to you once he discovered it worked. That's what they say. That's why he's not changed either."

Sasha 'hmphed' but didn't comment.

"Believe it or not, Hermione, I'm not doing this out of spite, or hatred or revenge. I'm doing what's best for the country. And for you. And Anna. Regardless of my reasons; I'm your only hope of success. You would never win against the might of the Dark Lord and if you challenged him directly, I would be forced to kill you. But this, this is your chance. You can reform the country in your image. You can have your husband back and you can make a future for your daughter. All you need to do is what you were meant to; take control of the situation, stop grovelling and hiding in the dirt and rise. You need to forget fear, forget doubt and just win."

"Like a Horntail?" Hermione said.

Sasha grinned. "Pull this off, Hermione, and Horntails will aspire to be like you."

Hermione was quiet for a long time. She still wasn't sure this was real; it seemed too good to be true. "How do I know this isn't just some kind of game?"

"You don't. And can't. But if it was, you'd probably have to play anyway. Believe me though when I say I have a lot better things to be doing with my time than playing games with you."

Slowly, Hermione processed that information, she looked at her hands and up to Sasha and then back to her hands. Her mind went through all the implications, all the pros and cons. Hermione couldn't deny she had fantasised about fighting the Dark Lord publically, in a political way and winning. That was her dream. The Alliance was set up out of desperation but now this opportunity presented itself...

She still wasn't sure she could trust him. She felt compelled to, felt that he was telling the truth, but she had never been able to read Sasha Kamenev. She remembered back to her school days and almost cringed at how naive she had been. Now, almost two decades later, she had to hold a grimace back at how well she had been played. But what he said was right; if this was a game, then to what purpose? Slowly, Hermione came to a conclusion.

"Okay." She said. "What's the first step?"

Sasha laughed. "Thatta girl." He said, hopping off of the table and pulling out a scroll with his plans from his cloak. "Let's make history."

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

The weak light of the early morning sun filtered into the room. Hermione sat over Anna's cot, looking in at her sleeping child. She was alone. All night she and Sasha Kamenev spoke and planned and schemed. And now, though she should be getting some rest, she was too excited to sleep.

She smiled a little as she traced her fingers lightly over her daughter's serene face.

She could picture a hopeful future for her daughter for the first time since her birth and, if what Sasha said was true, her husband might one day be exonerated and she could be happy—truly happy for the first time since her early teens.

Ironically, Sasha Kamenev was responsible for both her misery and her newly found hope. How strange this world was. Sasha had come in prepared. He had, in great detail, explained everything about the steps she had to take. He had taken everything into account, things she had never thought about and never would even consider. The first step was to disband the rebellion or at least change it to gather followers who were willing to win by a peaceful means. That, Sasha had told her, had been Voldemort's first mistake.

"A nation born in blood will end in blood" Sasha had said earlier that night, "You're better than that, you'll be brilliant. Beautiful. A leader like no other. You can create a peaceful nation that will be stronger than any other ever."

He went on to explain everything she had to do. Then, he told her she wouldn't see him again. Maybe once or twice, if the need arose or if there was a problem, but as far as Sasha was concerned, Hermione would be able to do the rest on her own. He told her not to mention him.

"The less people know the better." He had said. "Safer that way."

Before he left, Hermione had spoke to him.

"I promise you," she said, "when everything is over I'll make sure they know you helped. I'll tell everyone, the whole of Britain will know you are a good person. You won't be condemned like the rest of them; you won't be remembered as a villain."

Sasha smiled, a little sadly. "No, don't do that. I _am_ a villain and a very bad man and when the time comes, Hermione, I'll still stand by his side. I don't want to be remembered as a hero because I'm not. I do, however, want to be remembered as a loyal servant. That's all I've ever wanted."

"I can't guarantee your safety then, if you decide to keep this quiet. You might get caught in the crossfire; if Voldemort doesn't surrender you'll end up in the middle of it."

"That's exactly how I'd want it to be. If he falls, I fall, if he is imprisoned, I'll be there too. I owe it to him."

"Goodbye, Hermione." He said.

And then he left.

And Hermione retreated to her daughter's room, once again taken over with love and the fierce maternal instinct to protect her child; even if it did mean allowing a man to condemn himself. She wouldn't stop him. He wasn't a saint; he had killed, he had hurt and he had helped make many lives miserable. But she would remember him as a good man and, in her own way, she would quietly honour him. Perhaps, when Anna grew a little older, she would tell tales of a mysterious man in black who was hero as much as villain.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha arrived back in the Dark Lord's mansion in the early hours of the morning. The sun had appeared on the horizon and was gradually lighting up the dawn. Sasha had intended to slip into bed before anyone noticed him missing but it was too late now and he might as well enjoy the peace and quiet while he could.

He sat on top of the railings, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony, twirling a half smoked cigarette through his fingers thoughtfully. He took another long puff and blew out slowly, savouring the habit he had never quite managed to quit and the one Voldemort had never quite come to terms with.

In the distance, the last of the night's bats were flitting around near a clump of trees. Their high pitched chattering was out of the frequency a human ear could identify but Sasha could feel the ripples of their presence and the hairs on his arms stood up in response.

He was different now, felt things differently, saw things differently. Ever since the night of the last battle with Chaos, Sasha had changed. Once more, he wasn't sure what he was. Not a wizard or a creature, not a Shira or a Scion. He was something more, something altogether new. Scion plus. A new creature made with the essence of Nature.

And it had changed him.

Having Nature's essence within him for so long changed him. Her power had merged with his own strange magic and had morphed into something else. Nature was a goddess so fused with her own power that she lost her way within the systems she created. She had said so herself when they spoke on the battlefield, she was as much a part of the world as she was the creator of it. But Sasha was not and could never be; not with a second master to serve, he was forced to adapt the power into something he could use and control.

And Voldemort, being who and what he was, found ways for Sasha's newfound power to be incredibly advantageous. Any revolt, any word of disobedience and Sasha would be sent out, showing a vast array of dangerous, destructive power—all nature based. Sasha could split the ground to swallow up a rioter, or make a traitor die by stopping his heart with a flick of his wrist. Sasha could manipulate anything natural or nature-based; he could make trees grow rapidly or the oceans recede. He could do anything he wanted and he was sure there was so much more he could explore.

The night Hermione had spoken to him about, when he faced the rebellion, Sasha hadn't shown the full range of his terrible power. He could have caused the deaths of every last man and woman on that battlefield that night but he didn't. Instead, with a swipe of his arm, he had flung them all backwards, some were killed, some were arrested, some were injured. The fight had been over in moments. Sasha could have killed them all but he didn't.

He may not be what he once was, but that didn't mean he was completely different. Balance still played an important part in his actions. Too much death, too much power, too much of anything was Chaos. Nature always walked the line between Chaos and Balance and now Sasha would walk that line too. And as such, the Shira took a particular interest in him.

Paveh was sent down to him often, Diari and Navaa too. They made it casual, Paveh made it a bonding opportunity, but Sasha knew they were worried about the power he now wielded, particularly in his master's hands. But Sasha would never go overboard, he knew what was too much; he was part Balance too after all, and he would respect Nature and her ethos.

Sasha brought the cigarette to his lips and took another puff, savouring the calm he got with it.

It had been fifteen years since the battle of Hogwarts and life had gotten increasingly boring. After the first two or three years of running around and perfecting Voldemort's hold on the country, life had settled into a dull kind of monotony. It was different, but definitely not better. Sasha had thrived in the turmoil of war—as had most of the Death Eaters—and seemed out of place in a peaceful world with mundane, mostly desk jobs.

Sasha's face was plastered across the media as the key enforcer of the Dark Lord. Next to the propaganda posters praising Voldemort as the best and most generous leader, Sasha had his own set reminding citizens of what would happen if that generosity was tested. Sasha was a more public figure by far than the Dark Lord. Sasha appeared in the papers whenever Voldemort turned up. He also spent a lot more time on the streets, reminding people of his presence and attending things that Voldemort was either too busy or not bothered to to go to.

Pick up a paper on a slow news week and Sasha was sure to see himself in there somewhere. Gossip columns suggested his personality type and what kind of witches would be best suited as his wife or girlfriend. Witches magazines questioned his history with titles like 'behind the man behind the man" and made theories both utterly wild and some impressively close. He was seen as one of the most eligible, but unattainable bachelors in the country and despite the healthy amount of fear most people had for him, he was, apparently, irresistible to young to middle-aged pureblood witches who had nothing to fear.

There were elements to his life now that Sasha had to admit he liked. He liked the ease that he could come and go, he was flattered by the interest and attention on him—and Voldemort's dark jealously even after all those years. What he particularly appreciated, however, was the power it gave him. Voldemort hated muggleborns, but he tolerated Sasha's duty towards his mother and as such, Sasha was able to grant her privileges no muggleborn witch in the country was awarded.

Lily Potter lived by the coast, getting ready to retire from her very high powered job as a ministry official. She was respected, liked and well paid. She also had James. Sasha still didn't know how she managed it but couldn't help but respect her for it; he couldn't imagine a single thing anyone could do that would encourage him to go back to someone who gave him as much grief as Lily gave James.

Sasha took another puff, pausing a moment when he felt someone approaching from behind. His master was awake and he was heading out to where Sasha sat, perched on the balcony railing.

He would have jumped at the hand that appeared on the back of his neck and squeezed, had he not already been aware of Voldemort's presence.

"I did not expect to awake in an empty bed this morning." Voldemort said, moving close, his body heat warming the skin on Sasha's back.

"Oh?"

"You awoke early this morning."

"Hmmm..."

Voldemort reached over and plucked the cigarette from Sasha's fingers, flicking it away over the edge of the balcony. Sasha sighed and shifted so that both of his hands held onto the railing.

"Or perhaps..." Voldemort muttered slowly, his mouth near Sasha's ear. "Perhaps you did not spend the night as I had originally thought."

Sasha turned his head slowly, angling it to look up at Voldemort. His eyes fell on his lips, barely two inches away and then slowly moved up to his eyes.

Sasha smiled slowly, remaining cryptically quiet.

The hand on Sasha's neck tightened painfully. "Where were you last night?" Voldemort asked, his voice taking on a warning edge.

"Out."

"Doing what?"

Sasha gave a breathless chuckle. "Plotting your downfall, of course."

The hand around his neck loosened and slipped away. Voldemort moved from behind him to stand at his side, wicked amusement on his lips. "Of course... I did not expect you to act so quickly."

"I like to surprise."

"And whom, may I inquire, is the candidate you have chosen to be my destruction?"

Sasha shook his head, laughing. "Nah-ah-ah. That's not how this works. Telling you would ruin the game."

Voldemort's expression hardened. "I could force you to answer me, order you to tell me everything."

"And then the game would be over and you would lose. I know you would hate to lose. We agreed you would not know—to make it more sporting."

"I do not wish to be backstabbed by my Death Eaters." Voldemort said.

Sasha sighed. "Okay, I'll give. Just this once I'll give you a hint; it won't be any of your Death Eaters. This is an outside job."

Voldemort's lips twisted. "How easily you are swayed. I'll have the name by tomorrow morning."

Sasha was grinning by the time he answered. "I only gave you that so I don't have to be the one responsible for you making your Death Eater's lives hell. You'll get nothing else out of me. From now on you're on your own."

Voldemort shrugged. "No matter. It won't take long to deduce."

"You'll never see it coming." Sasha said confidently. "And that's all I'll say on the matter."

"Very well. As if I would need any more than that."

Sasha laughed and agreed with him. "Any news on Lucius?"

"So far, no. It won't take long though. His grandchild will be reaching school age soon. That, I believe will be his breaking point."

Sasha nodded.

Lucius had, after the death of Narcissa, become obsessed with his family. Draco's son and heir to the family name, Scorpius, was everything to Lucius. The five year old was all the man thought about now and on more than one occasion; Sasha had witnessed the closeness of the relationship himself. Since his grandson came into his life, Sasha had been thankfully spared Lucius' unwelcome attentions. For years Lucius had maintained to harbour a deep and lasting attraction to Sasha. Slowly, as time went on and Sasha stayed young despite his own son ageing, Lucius began to doubt his chances and questioned Sasha's real value to the Dark Lord. When the grandchild came along, Lucius backed off completely.

Sasha didn't mind; it made his life a lot easier and frankly, he had relished the decreased possessiveness Voldemort had felt necessary to employ whenever Lucius was around. But aside from Sasha's personal gain, Lucius shift in priorities meant that he no longer had the drive for power he once had.

For almost ten years now, Lucius had been working as the Prime Minister of Britain. Everyone knew, of course, that it was the Dark Lord who controlled behind the scenes, but Lucius was the figurehead and many of the Death Eaters worked under him.

Lucius, however, was tiring of the position, that much was clear. Voldemort could have replaced him easily but peace had not proven all that satisfying to the Dark Lord in the end either. He craved the challenge more than even the power allotting to him once he won.

So, late into the night, some weeks ago, Voldemort had shared his thoughts with Sasha. They agreed to leave Britain, let the people figure it out on their own. That way, Voldemort could seek out a new challenge and, when that was finished, he could return and take over once more. Sasha and a handful of Death Eaters were tasked with the job of finding a challenger, one who might 'overthrow' Voldemort. They would be surprised when Lucius would step down from his role and would not expect the ease of the victory but by the time they would think to approach Voldemort, he would already be gone. The world would soon forget about the Dark Lord and his key enforcer and would move on.

In time, Sasha and Voldemort would return challenging a new regime. They could continue in that vein indefinitely, as was the benefit of being immortal, but Sasha knew Voldemort would eventually tire of that too. But that was a problem for another day.

"We must prepare for the day." Voldemort said eventually. "Come."

"I'll follow you in a minute."

Voldemort nodded and wandered back into the mansion, leaving Sasha alone with his thoughts.

There was just waiting now, it was all up to Hermione and Lucius.

Sasha sighed and put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. Having prepared himself, he followed his master into the house to get ready for another day.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Sasha stood at the grave site with his hands folded behind his back, looking up at the cloudy sky and grimacing when he felt it start to drizzle. He looked back down at the gravestone thoughtfully. The grave had been dug hours ago and the soil was still fresh.

Sasha hunkered down and took a handful of the soil, squeezing it hard until his hand made an imprint when he opened it out. Somehow it made him feel more connected. He looked back up at his mother's name carved in stone.

"It's been a while."

Sasha dropped the dirt and stood up, clapping his hands to rid himself of any remaining dirt.

Sasha turned. "Hello Hermione." He said.

Hermione Granger slowly walked up to him and stood beside him. Holding a black umbrella to save her hair from the drizzle. She, like Sasha was wearing black.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Hermione said, appearing to be entirely genuine.

Sasha nodded. "It was her time. Ninety-two isn't a bad age for a muggleborn witch."

"She was still your mother." Hermione pointed out correctly.

"No one is ever really gone. She's still out there somewhere."

Sasha could faintly feel her spirit in the cycle. He was sad, it did hurt to have leave but she still felt present and how could he truly miss someone who was still so with him?

Hermione gave an amused 'hmm'. "Wise words for someone so young looking."

Sasha smiled and really studied her. "Words more suited to you now, I think. How old are we now? I forget sometimes. "

Hermione raised a brow. "Sixty two, next birthday."

"You're looking well for your age." Sasha said.

"You're looking better." She quipped. "You haven't aged a day."

Sasha laughed. "True. Tell me though, how is our Prime Minister doing?"

Hermione smiled. "Tired. Ready to quit."

"That's not the Hermione I knew."

"It's been forty-odd years. I think it's fair to say I've changed somewhat."

Sasha shook his head. "Nah, you can't quit. It's not in you. You're a tough old bird."

"A Horntail, if I'm not mistaken."

Sasha agreed with her and smiled, a little distractedly, looking down at the grave again.

"She spoke about you a lot." Hermione said. "Told me you visited her often. Particularly after James died. She was so proud of you. I didn't know her well until the end. But I'm glad I did. She was an admirable woman."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I didn't realise a wanted felon found it so simple to sneak into the country so often. It makes me wonder about your master."

"Don't worry; he's not interested in returning to Britain any time soon."

"But he will sometime?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Who knows? I wouldn't ask. Or presume to know."

"Hmm." Hermione said, distrustfully. "Life is peaceful here, but we are not weak. We will fight you if you come here. Do not forget that."

"There's that maternal instinct again. I chose the right person for the job."

Hermione quietened. "Yes. I must thank you for that again. Was he angry?"

Sasha hesitated briefly. "He never knew." He lied.

"For the best, I suppose."

"You've done a lot of good for this country." Sasha said.

"I've made a lot of mistakes too."

"But they came from a good place. That's all that matters; no one can ask any more of you. I just wanted you to know that."

Hermione's features tightened in confusion. "Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?"

"Because I am. Farewell, Hermione. Live well and don't waste any more time on regret."

He started to back away. Hermione turned to watch him go, confused by his behaviour.

"Where are you going?"

Sasha smiled without any humour. "Far away from here. You won't see me again."

He took one last glance at his mother's grave before disappearing from British soil.

...

**{Enochian Prophecies}**

...

Hermione was dying.

She didn't know but Sasha could smell it on her as soon as she stepped up to him. Walking through the thick brush of the Congo rainforest, Sasha wondered how long she would have. Not long. A year at most. He had known instinctively when his mother was sick and Hermione was no different. In a way, he felt glad. Hermione would never know of his betrayal. She would not be around to see him and Voldemort return. In his old age, he was growing a conscience it seemed.

Sasha walked up to the small house he shared with Voldemort. It was entirely made out of wood with a very colonial porch and shade area. It was magicked so that muggles would stay away from it but frankly, this deep into the forest, the chances of anyone happening across them was slim at best. It had been home for the last five years. Before that it had been Australia, then China, South American and Greenland. They had travelled a lot in the past five years and Sasha had seen more than he ever would have dreamed of as a child.

Sasha had experienced more than he ever thought possible. His venture into the Cycle had changed him and while he was evasive at best when Voldemort asked, Sasha remembered a lot more than he let on. The Cycle had showed him much. It couldn't help itself and he hadn't been able to stop it either.

One very interesting thing he had learned from the Cycle was how Shira travelled between worlds. By skimming the surface of the Cycle itself they were able to transpose themselves in space. Having a stronger connection to the Cycle allowed them to do this while others could not. Sasha could do it but Voldemort couldn't naturally. However after much experimentation Voldemort figured out a way for him to be carried along with Sasha, much like side-apparation.

But Sasha saw more than that in the Cycle.

He saw a thousand billion possibilities. He saw himself and Voldemort, appearing in an infinite amount of timelines, with as many variations of themselves. He saw himself as Harry Potter, boy destined to destroy the Dark Lord, he saw himself as a muggle, as a nobody, as a Dark Lord himself, as a martyr, as an artist, as a human, as a time-traveller, a child, a creature, and sometimes a woman. Voldemort was affected by just as many variations and sometimes Sasha barely recognised him. But one thing that always stood out, whether they were enemies, lovers, master and slave, brothers, friends or even strangers they were always connected. In each world their souls were linked, irrevocably and eternally. They were one. And the story always involved them in some capacity. They were linked by destiny in all worlds, their souls travelling in the Cycle together.

And so, many years ago, Sasha hypothesised. What if they could travel the Cycle using the other alternative versions of themselves as guides? What if they could hop from world to world. Reality to reality. Always a new challenge, a new role, a new life.

Sasha's job was to look after his master. In any capacity. The biggest threat to Voldemort at the moment was his own boredom. This was the ultimate solution to that problem.

"You're home." Voldemort said as Sasha walked through the door.

Voldemort was hunched over the work bench completing some of the calculations to Sasha's theory. They had been working on it for years now, carefully, slowly, with trial and error methods being employed as little as possible. The consequences of failure were not something Sasha wanted to see.

Voldemort did not look up from his work.

"Yeah, I'm back." Sasha replied as he moved further into the house and dropped himself of the sofa.

"Where were you?" Voldemort asked, only half paying attention.

"My mother died. I was at her funeral."

Voldemort stopped and slowly put down his quill, turning to look at Sasha. "Oh." He said.

"It's okay." Sasha said and for a moment, Voldemort almost looked relieved.

"Good." He said, turning back to his work.

"I'm ready now. We can move on whenever you want."

Voldemort chuckled and turned to Sasha once more. "Good." He said. "Very good. I am eager to return to Britain. I do feel in the mood for destroying it right now."

Voldemort stood up and started to pace, grinning widely.

"But it will take time to plan it." Sasha said.

"Of course, months of planning. I should think we won't see England again until next year some time. Still this is the perfect time to start. I have plans, so many I would like to see come to fruition."

"Good." Sasha said, secretly relieved that Hermione definitely wouldn't be around to see this.

"But which should I go with first?" Voldemort muttered.

"Don't worry," Sasha said, "we have plenty of time."

Voldemort smirked. "And worlds. I've almost cracked it, soon nothing will stop us."

Sasha laughed. "So where will we start, master?"

"The choice is quite overpowering, is it not?"

Voldemort charged into possibilities and plans, getting excited and becoming animated. Sasha listened to him and watched him, smiling, glad to see his master happy.

In the Cycle, Sasha saw many things. He also saw his death. His and Voldemort's. Long after the joys of life had fled and Voldemort had grown tired and weary and bored. Sasha watched Voldemort ask for help, one final request from master to servant. Sasha would kill his master gently and then follow him into the Cycle. But that would not come for many years. Thousands and thousands of years. Millions of worlds and times and lives.

This was the beginning.

It would end with eternity.

_The End_


End file.
